


Caught in Cold Space Between Warm Stars, an Ai no Gekisen AU Ending

by Bannon_Harpsichord



Category: Ai no Kusabi, Gundam Wing
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, Aphrodisiacs, Confessions, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Male Friendship, Master/Slave, Outer Space, Rape Recovery, Sexual Slavery, Spanking, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-20
Updated: 2020-10-20
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:27:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 26,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27112591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bannon_Harpsichord/pseuds/Bannon_Harpsichord
Summary: Being Heero nearly destroyed him. He survived. Six months after he fled to his new life amid the stars, Qalen Winner's damaged mind and heart began to heal. His experiences had changed him, dramatically. And out in the cold of space, he began discovering what strange new animal he'd become.This is the much anticipated! AU/Continuation/alternate-ending witten by me, of an AU Ai no Kusabi/Gundam Wing fanfic called Ai no Gekisen featuring the Gundam Wing cast in the twisted, beautiful universe of Ai no Kusabi written by Yoiko.
Relationships: Chang Wufei/Heero Yuy, Duo Maxwell/Heero Yuy, Heero Yuy/Original Male Characters(s), Trowa Barton/Chang Wufei, Trowa Barton/Duo Maxwell/Heero Yuy, Zechs Merquise/Heero Yuy
Comments: 6
Kudos: 15





	Caught in Cold Space Between Warm Stars, an Ai no Gekisen AU Ending

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Yoiko](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yoiko/gifts), [Ihasabukkit](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ihasabukkit/gifts), [FastPuck](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FastPuck/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Restricted Work] by [Yoiko](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yoiko/pseuds/Yoiko). Log in to view. 



> In a year as crazy as 2020, writing an AU ending to a fic that was ALREADY an AU doesn't seem nearly as insane as I think it should.
> 
> But, here we are!
> 
> I don't think you strictly neeeeeed to read Ai no Gekisen in order to enjoy this story, it kinda stands up on its own. kinda. a little. But I did write it as a continuation of that fic, in an AU sort of way. Because normal people do that.
> 
> Also go READ Ai no Gekisen if you like cutie Heero and whips and chains and the strugggggllllllle.
> 
> I immensely enjoyed Ai no Gekisen and was really tickled by what Yoiko set out to achieve, and I got very invested in it! After Yoiko got to the ending of the tale, I felt there was more there worth exploring. Maybe I didn't want it to be over. Maybe the universe Yoiko described was just too damn fun. I got too excited to contain my comments and just had a BALL talking about possibilities for the future of that universe in the comments of it here on AO3. And then Yoiko invited me to write my own take on where things could go. (Probably because I was being annoying and Yoiko was like, "Ya hate my ending!? Whatever, write your own!" :D )
> 
> But, I really felt that there was more potential for Heero's character, at the ending in Ai no Gekisen. My feelings on the subject wouldn't really leave me alone, and now I'm finally sharing the results.
> 
> The story ideas just kept snowballing in my head, Yoiko VERY GENEROUSLY gave me feedback on the first draft, and I'm eternally grateful for the insights into how to stick closer to the workings of AnG's universe (particularly when I didn't even realize I'd strayed from them).
> 
> But, this story is its own beast. AnG is definitely sticking in close with AnK's universe. I liked the idea of a slightly more hybridized AnK/GW feel to it. And since the ending of Ai no Gekisen involves a change of scenery, I don't think it's wrong to give the sense of place a little bit of a shake-up. So, I tried to keep the characterization consistent with AnG but put them in a new place and then they have to deal with that.
> 
> What you are seeing here, is basically the third rewrite of the tale. Ihasabukkit advised me not do an entire overhaul after reading draft 2, but instead pointed me to tweak things here and there. But, one thing led to another. . . and I kinda, re-did all of it lol. Honestly, if it wasn't for Ihasabukkit and Yoiko, there is NO chance this story would exist. Give them some love.
> 
> There are so many things in this I'm incredibly proud of! I hope you enjoy them. I hope it's coherent and makes sense to people who are outside of my head! :D There are also many things that are maybe not so great! But I feel like i need to be "done" with it, now that I got it to a level I'd describe as "pretty okay." I am not a great fool, so I'm not going to outline all my insecurities about the story here for you to LOOK FOR in the text. But I will say, I want to hear people's thoughts, whether it's geeking out, or constructive criticism (that I'll try not to get a complex over). Suggestions and comments are very welcome. If nothing else, I'm happy I got to play in this fascinating place of fantastic technology and tyrannical AI who happily turns a blind eye to hedonism and slavery. 
> 
> Also lol I haven't had to mess with html formatting in like decades. . . yeah don't expect me to remember how any of that works or my formatting to look good and I'm sorry about that in advance.

> “When you look deeply into your anger, you will see that the person you call your enemy is also suffering. As soon as you see that, the capacity for accepting and having compassion for them is there.” - Thich Nhat Hanh

__________

Heero stood naked on an illuminated platform, in an otherwise darkened room. One of his wrists had a leather cuff around it, and a short chain linked it to the front of the collar of thin, white leather around his neck. That setup kept his hand up around his shoulder. The back of his collar was chained to the ceiling, keeping him from stepping off the short platform. (Well, he could. But he’d choke himself). His other arm was unrestrained, which left him deeply suspicious. So, he flatly asked, “Why isn’t my other arm chained?”

“So you can masturbate for your audience,” Wufei replied. He was bringing a full-length mirror into the room.

Not exactly shocked, Heero sneered and looked away from the Pet Trainer.

After situating the mirror in front of Heero, Wufei nodded with some satisfaction. He allowed himself a small smile, thinking the excellent view Heero would have of himself (if the boy could bring himself to look). Then, he walked away, to the little folding table he’d set up earlier.

He picked up the medium sized buttplug on it. While he slicked up the sex toy, he kept an eye on Heero. He said, “Since you’ve been good, so far, I’ll use the medium one on you. Present yourself for it. Arch your back. I’ll use more lube than last time.” Chang Wufei was pleased to see his words visibly strike Heero, in the form of a shudder moving though the boy. Wu smiled to himself, proud his little ways of chipping away the prideful Pet’s mental and emotional armor were working. He was pleased that he was at least starting to get somewhere with him. He held the plug out, the thing dripping with lubricant. He looked between it and the Pet, admiring the view of the two objects in frame together. He reached for one of the cameras that were already sitting at the ready to record Heero’s soon-to-be command performance, and he snapped a quick digital photo. He lingered on the sight.

The shot came out beautifully. The Pet was barely fifteen, to look at him. His slender frame stood stiffly, almost haughtily, his jaw set, his fists clenched, and his shoulders tight. Yes, Heero had the usual superficial traits of what made a Pet beautiful: his body was kept meticulously hairless from the neck down, and his flawless skin glowed in the light like he was never away from a spa for more than half a day. But, he was a Mongrel Pet; so he had a compact sort of muscle tone bred Pets never had. However, his form was so slender that the ripples of his muscle drew the eye because his body was beautiful and not because he was powerful. He stood with a defiant, prideful tilt to his chin no bred Pet could sincerely mean. The Pet’s dick was shriveled and soft, pointing outward, supported by the tight scrotum tucked beneath it. Any other Pet would have sprung a hardon, bound and on display, standing on an illuminated plinth; but not defiant Heero, obstinate and petulant. It was yet another indicator that Heero was not a predictable Pet, but something exotic that Wu should keep a wary eye on. . . not just lustfully stare at.

Heero turned to look at Wufei, intentionally twisting his face with disgust and righteous anger to convey his opinion before he even said anything. But to follow it up, he said, “Why should I submit? Why shouldn’t I just yank it out after you put it in me? Why this game? Why not just. . . do something awful to me like you did the first time?” He hadn’t looked at himself in the mirror Wu had set up, yet. He didn’t know that he looked for all the world like a Pet on display, who’d only ever serve as ambiance in an Elite’s home.

Wufei smiled thinly. The bound Pet couldn’t look menacing to the Trainer, under the circumstances. The black-haired Trainer cooly said, “You need to be shown your place. And your place as a Pet is to be made into a sex-show, whenever your Master demands. So. You’re on camera, Heero. And you’re going to cum for him, at least twice. The plug will not overmuch help stimulate you. . . but serve as a reminder of your place. As for why the game? Pets submit to sex games, Heero. Enthusiastically. Your Master wants you to complete this task before he’s home. He wants his Pet waiting for him, naked and fresh from the bath and dozing from a hard day of sexual training. The plug will help keep you on task.”

The Pet narrowed his eyes and leveled a glare at his tormentor. Of course he’d heard of such devices, but he’d never given thought to such a thing being used on him. He tried to sound unafraid as he coldly asked, “It’s not a sex toy, but a torture device?”

Admiring the plug, Wufei said, “That depends entirely on you. It heats up, Heero. Once per hour, it’ll heat up one notch. If you cum while wearing it, it’ll sense it and cool down by two notches. It will shut down if you get it to level 0. The game, will be over when you get it to that point. I’ll start it on level four. How long it takes you to complete the task of shutting the plug down is entirely up to you. The pain it can cause is significant, but I’m trusting you to choose self-pleasuring over suffering.” Wufei knew the pain the thing could cause would have Heero cooperating long before it injured him, but he kept that tidbit to himself. He wanted Heero to think there was an element of true danger. It was different from the treatment with the ice, which did pose some true risk. This was a more kind task, by far. He glanced over to Heero just in time to see that glaring face turn away with an indignant huff. The Pet surely thought highly of himself, and once again he found himself smiling at Heero’s emotions.

Heero breathed out, hard. He took a moment to think about how to better his situation. When he agreed to act as Zechs’ Pet, he definitely hadn’t figured it’d mean repeated visits to a Trainer like Wufei. But, Zechs made him certain promises. If he was obedient, he’d be granted the DNA test, the results would prove he was an Elite who’d been altered against his will to resemble a young Pet. If he made too much trouble for Zechs. . . he’d spend more time with the infamous Pet Trainer, being tortured and punished until his will gave out. It had happened before. He stood there trying to outwardly project that being a Pet was so utterly beneath him, but he remembered Wufei’s methods had once forced him to accept his assigned rank. He asked, “And what reasons do I have to submit to this game?” He wanted to sound bitter and coldly malevolent, but he was secretly hoping Wufei could tell him something that’d be a balm on his wounded pride if he chose submission over resistance. He looked at the trainer though his brown bangs, scowling sourly at him, searching Wufei’s face. 

Wufei half expected the question. He answered him, saying, “Because it’ll make your life easier. It will mean I won’t have to punish you, today, if you honestly play along like a good Pet would. It will please your Master that you cooperated. And if your Master is pleased with you, it will mean more privileges for you, yes? If your Master is pleased with you, he won’t dispose of you. That’ll mean you will live long enough to at least have a chance to chase your plans, your ambitions? If you play the cards you’ve been given well enough, you’ll have privileges and space to think and the ear of at least one Elite.”

It wasn’t the first time Wufei didn’t react to cold rage flashing in Heero’s eyes, that steady, steely glare. The trainer had some idea of what was going on in the Pet’s mind, but had no concept of which of his words specifically just sparked the anger in the boy. He crossed his arms, narrowed his gaze, and huffed a breath out of his nostrils. Staring back at Heero, studying his face, he proceeded, undeterred, because it was words he felt Heero needed to hear in order to survive being a Pet. “Now you begin to see the truth of it. The games Pets play together at parties, and the things Master expects from you, are temporary. Your life and your ambitions are permanent. Endure the temporary, even enjoy the temporary, and you’ll gain Master’s trust and privileges that go with it. And with that, will come some freedoms. But if you’re an obstinate Pet, you’ll spend your time in a cage, without even the run of a whole room, and forget chasing your goals,” Wufei explained.

Heero’s head hung. He knew Wufei was right. He huffed a sigh. He stood there processing, for a moment.

The Pet Trainer didn’t rush him. He watched him think. With Mongrel Pets like Heero, it took them more time to adjust, to accept their situation. Even Bred Pets needed training and teaching, but they were built to thrive under the will of their Master. Mongrels needed both more patience and more suffering, before they would thrive as a Pet; the trick to them was to judge which was needed, when.

In a grumble, Heero said, “This doesn’t mean I like playing these games for him.”

Wufei nodded somberly. As he watched, Heero turned. The Pet bent his knees and arched his back, provocatively sticking his rear out for the trainer to access, and Wufei drank it all in. The Trainer kept his face impassive as Heero’s cheeks flushed red with glorious humiliation. He was so happy he’d gotten the Pet to be so obedient and willingly sexual without any further threats or even any drugs. Zechs would be happy, too, which might mean bonus pay! But, he knew Heero would not respond well to his Trainer overtly enjoying his humiliation, so he kept his emotions off his face. Also, he had resolved never to punish Heero for the moments of his submission. He wanted the boy to always feel rewarded for that. So, he wanted his reply to be honest and reassuring. He said, “When I am training you, Heero, I think of everything you do as an act of courage. It takes courage to be defiant, knowing I’ll punish you for it. And it takes even more courage to submit, because of the fear of the vulnerability and loss of control that goes along with submission. I know all too well that none of it can be purely pleasure for you. I will not talk as though you like submitting, not unless I begin to truly think you do. I know there is tremendous pride in you, and that being a Pet is difficult for you. That is why I will be kind to you, whenever you’ll let me. For example, I don’t want this to hurt, when it goes in. I never want your submission to damage you, Heero. So, I’m going to take the necessary time to work on this, slowly.” He approached calmly, as he spoke, the plug in his hand.

Heero kept his own counsel. He grit his teeth, thinking on what Wufei said. He didn’t want to believe him. He wanted to believe that Zechs would have him tortured by the Pet Trainer just for laughs. Wufei evidently believed Zechs was honorable. He supposed everyone had to believe Blondies were honorable, or the whole of society would collapse. He didn’t think arguing with Wufei would get him any positive results, especially there in Wufei’s. . . training center, where he was most powerful. The sensation of something wet pressing against his sensitive hole interrupted his thoughts. His throat made a noise. He could feel his blush deepening, the tingling heat of it intensifying on his face and burning his ears and spreading even to his chest. He hadn’t wanted to make any noise. He wanted to maintain some dignity.

With his dry hand, Wufei gently pet Heero’s spine. He stroked his back softly, soothingly. With his wet hand, he was using his pinky finger to work the boy’s offered hole. He was unhurried about it.

The trainer decided not to talk. Heero was an emotionally unpredictable boy. When sexual pleasure and submission were combined, Heero’s reactions tended to be extreme resistance, defending himself by any means necessary, or sorrowful, ugly breakdowns. Wufei was hoping to avoid both of those. He knew Heero well enough by now to understand that pushing his emotional buttons always worked. He knew Heero didn’t like displaying his emotions, that Heero liked to show the world a dispassionate facade of efficiency and logic. He knew Heero was a storm of emotions under the exterior. He knew that the only way to earn the Pet’s submission was to allow the boy the mental space to analyze the costs/benefits of submission or defiance, and then reward or punish him appropriately for his decisions. So, he didn’t say a word. He let his silence and the gentle teasing of his fingers be a reward for Heero’s submission. For a long while, the quiet of the room was only interrupted by the sounds of Heero’s erratic breathing, and the slick sounds of a finger-fucking, and the half stifled whimpers of pleasure escaping from a Mongrel Pet’s throat.

While the trainer was so busy watching the other boy’s body language and manipulating his ass, he missed Heero catching sight of his reflection.

Heero was red-faced, and determined to survive his ordeal with dignity. But he saw a truth in his own reflection, that he didn’t hate being bent over and on offer for Wufei. He clamped his eyes shut to it, but his shoulders slumped low after the realization. He then realized that Wufei still hadn’t ordered him to look at himself. He’d simply presented the truth of things right in front of his face and let him face it, eventually, on his own time. It all felt so inexorable, inescapable. He hated it all, but his hatred could change nothing.

When Wufei judged it was time to put the plug in, he still didn’t say anything. He issued no warning. He didn’t want Heero to tense up again. He simply pressed it against the boy’s relaxed hole and gradually pushed it into him, giving it a twist to help it on its journey.

The sexual cry Heero let out was involuntary, and he found himself looking up toward the ceiling as his body adjusted to the feeling of fullness in his rear. His head gradually settled back down until he found himself looking at the glowing floor under his bare feet, his breathing was steadying. He hated how hard his dick had gotten.

Wufei didn’t leave the Pet on his own, just yet. He stepped up to join the boy on the platform. He rested his wet, warm hand on Heero’s round, smooth rear, and with his dry hand, he softly pet Heero’s head.

And Heero couldn’t believe how much that helped. He wished that he wasn’t so easily manipulated, but he also wanted Wufei to stay with him and keep. . . petting him. He hated associating anything positive with that word. He didn’t say anything, or nuzzle into the trainer or anything so overtly expressive; but something about his body language conveyed he was grateful for the gentle attention. He believed Wufei wouldn’t mock him, when he chose to be vulnerable and submissive like that. That was one of the reasons Heero could find himself calming, under the trainer’s touch. There was something sincere in it. He believed Wufei wasn’t interested in hurting him just for the sake of hurting him. Heero believed Wufei’s words and actions had always reflected that the trainer wanted Heero to behave like a trained Pet, and no more-elaborate agenda had revealed itself. He’d endured no end of ridicule from Blondies and other Pets, but Wufei had never said a snide thing to him. He stayed still, calmly soaking up Wufei’s gentle touches. Eventually, he took a longer breath in and held it before letting it out. He felt okay again.

There was something therapeutic Wufei found about petting a Pet and watching their ribs as they breathed. He’d never really put his finger on it why he found himself drawn to observing that, but he stood with Heero while the Pet processed, all the same. Part of him wanted to start talking, to praise him, tell him he was doing well. But, he restrained himself. He had the feeling introducing any more feelings or ideas than what Heero already had swirling around in his heart and his head would upset the balance, even if it was something intended to be positive and calming. When he picked up that Heero was ready for whatever step 2 was going to be, he stroked the back of his neck and then slowly walked to stand behind him.

Breaking the silence, it was Heero who said, “You mentioned an ‘audience?’ Master wants to watch me while he’s at the office? . . . Have a recording of this to humiliate me with at his parties. . .” The thoughts had his dick instantly shrinking to its previous state before his body had been teased by the trainer’s expert fingers.

With a soft sigh, Wufei said, “It is at your Master’s request that you have an audience. The live-stream on my social media has always provided me a generous income. The feed is muted, nobody watching has heard anything said thus far. But I will activate the microphones when the game begins in earnest.”

The news came as a shock. Heero’s jaw hung open and his head snapped to stare at his trainer. The implications of people watching him from their comfortable chairs on their screens, commenting, sharing opinions about him amongst each other hit Heero hard. His penis shriveled even further. He hung his head to attempt to hide his face, his anxiety and embarrassment increasing the more he thought about it.

Wufei didn’t quite know what to say to him. He was sure Heero knew Pets were shown off. He wondered, briefly, if Zechs had told the Pet he’d never be publicly displayed or taken to a party to be shown off. But Wufei decided not to go there, not to interfere directly in whatever Zechs had led his Pet to believe. He could tell the boy was having performance anxiety. Heero’s sex had receded so completely, even his balls were tucked up tight and wrinkled. Normally he’d think that was cute, or (on a normal Pet) it’d be a sign that a punishment was finally being effective as a punishment, and not taken as “play” by the “victim;” but it was looking like he’d be in for putting Heero through a very long and not-terribly-sexy, tedious videostream. He had to say something to make Heero want to get through this, if he didn’t want Heero writhing like a worm on a hook while the plug up his ass hurt him for hours. He explained, “Heero, I want you to remember something. You are stronger than the other Pets. Your muscles make them jealous. The high status of your Master makes them jealous. The other Blondies are jealous they didn’t see you first, and the other Pets are jealous they don’t have that spark that you have, that drew Zechs’ eye in the first place. This game is their chance to either enjoy seeing you struggling and miserable, or find themselves jealous of how virile and strong you are. And I think both your Master, and you, know that. Personally, I’m betting you’ll shut the plug off, handily. Most of the other Pets who come to see me are whiny, entitled things. You. . . have never whined. Imperious and above all this, true, but you’ve never acted like anything owed you and whined when I didn’t just hand it over. You’re stronger and better than them. This is where you can prove it, and deny them the satisfaction they want. I’m sure they want to see you in tears, obstinately refusing to cooperate, and being punished for it.”

As The Trainer spoke, he got to watch the Pet’s ears turn an even deeper red, entering ‘cherry’ territory; and the whole of the rest of the boy was a soft pink. He had to admit, the sight of Heero pink and naked was an endearing one. He felt sympathy for him, he truly did. But then he felt himself go right back on-guard again as Heero’s head came up and those cobalt blue eyes flashed him another death-glare. He privately thought of tracking how many times Heero did that over the course of the day, and assigning spankings to him for each of them. He made a mental note to run the idea past Zechs.

Heero said nothing. The last thing he thought he wanted was a fucking pep-talk. Although he’d admit later, it was nice that the trainer cared enough to give him one. He knew he could easily have been tossed into the masturbation-game and left to sink or swim on his own.

Somehow, Wufei did not smile. He had no idea how he resisted. Heero looked so cute, trying to be an intimidating monster when he was blushing hard enough to potentially burst a blood vessel. He approached him again, and he took Heero’s free hand in his wet one. He flexed his fingers, getting Heero’s hand coated in the lubricant. He explained, “Your instructions are to look at yourself in the mirror, throughout. The game begins when I’m seated at the comms console.”

Idly cupping his free hand over his crotch after Wufei strode away from him, Heero sourly looked at himself sideways in the mirror. The boy in the mirror looking at him sideways was thinking the same thing he was: let’s make them all wish they were on this cock. He gave himself a little squeeze. He heard Wufei typing. He heard the dings from the console as messages and comments, that were doubtlessly about him, coming in.

The plug activated its heat-radiating function out of nowhere.

Heero found himself crying out, his ass clenched as hard as it could while he was up on his toes; and his whole body arched. But gradually, he realized it didn’t really hurt. It was just a surprise, intense sensation. He came down off his toes, trying to relax into the waves of heat rolling out into his body from his most sensitive place.

Doing his very best to try not to think about his audience, or his Master, or Wufei, he tried to think sexy thoughts as he began softly touching himself with his slickened hand. He stared at the mirror, looking over the slim shoulder of his reflection. He tried to go into his mental place of sex fantasies, a place he’d not tried to go to since he’d become a Pet.

It wasn’t quite working.

Wufei leaned back with his arms crossed. He was impressed with Heero’s progress. Not too long ago, he’d had to give him the ice treatment and literally freeze the defiance and the scrappy temper out of him. Looking at him now, a Pet trying to obey and please, was like looking at an entirely different Pet. He mentally pat himself on the back for being amazing. But, he only allowed himself a few moments of laziness. He sat upright again and reached for the computer keyboard; he set a graphic on the camera feed to display the level of the plug’s heat output, typed a basic description of the game, and put an hour count-down timer graphic, to indicate when the heat level would be increased. He intentionally left the console’s volume up high enough for Heero to hear the dings as viewers typed messages in the chat box.

The Pet’s performance-anxiety and obvious humiliation were the main topics of discussion. A common theme was chiding Zechs for not displaying Heero at a party for them to enjoy, and thus allowing their Pets to help the poor guy out. Wufei didn’t respond to much of anything, but he read it all, mostly wanting to be alert in case Zechs logged into the chat and had any instructions.

After being in his head for a long while, Heero shot his seed onto the mirror while he gasped out his relief. The heat level radiating out from the wicked device dropped, instantly. Heero nearly cried in gratitude. But, he had no idea how long it had taken him to get that far. He wanted to hurry. He squeezed his ass on the evil plug, wanting the heat, the sensation of his ass being stuffed and plugged to hasten his recovery. He wondered what people he’d _trust_ to put him in chains, if there was anyone he’d enjoy being chained-up by. . . and nobody came to mind.

The plug soon jumped up to level three. A dither of dings sounded from the console as those in the stream got excited Heero would be in for a long night of suffering for them, as he’d doubtlessly end up right back where he started, and then endure still higher levels of heat then where he’d started.

Becoming distressed, Heero began to sink down lower and lower. He mentally conjured a fantasy of some massive man in a dungeon, keeping him prisoner, milking him against his will, forcing him to produce ejaculate, putting things up his ass to help speed the ‘harvest.’ He sank lower, using his collar and the chain keeping him from attempting to flee to fuel his fantasy of a huge man dragging him about on a leash. The man in his fantasy had no qualms torturing his prisoners to achieve the required results. He used the restraint around his neck to punish himself for not cumming twice during the first hour, imagining a captor was dragging him from a torture chamber to an even-worse torture chamber, to ‘make sure he learned his lesson.’ He lost himself in the fantasy, squatting as much as his bonds would allow, rising and lowering his body and purposefully stretching his neck with the tight leather encircling it. He eventually squirted another orgasm out, the trickle of semen barely making it to the mirror glass. He stood up straighter, breathing hard, his thighs absolutely killing him from being in a crouched position for so long. He felt a weird exhilaration, in a detached and surreal kind of way. He looked around, and startled when he saw Wufei was so very close by.

There was no way in Hell the famous trainer was going to sit quietly at a console across the room while a Pet in his care was potentially about to choke himself. That had scared him. He was ready to unclip the collar, to call this entire thing off. He would have trouble living with himself, if Heero got a radical idea about ending it all in the middle of a game like that and made an attempt to. Also, his reputation was at stake, if a Pet got injured on his watch. He wasn’t about to let Zechs’ game result in something so bad when it was meant to be simple entertainment.

Heero completely missed the naked concern on Wufei’s face and gave his Trainer this helpless look. He asked, “Please, help me. I don’t think I can do another all on my own. And I don’t. . . I don’t want my ass to burn for hours, so, please Wufei. . . Please, Sir. . . help me cum, for my Master?”

Wufei thought it was very telling that Heero would literally rather choke himself before asking for help (or okay, only tease at choking himself). But, that’s not what he said, because he reminded himself he wanted to reward Heero for submission, not punish him for it. So, he said, “Very well, I will help you. I’m not forbidden from helping you complete the game, and you were never forbidden from asking. I’m fairly certain it was expected it wouldn’t have occurred to you. Can you remain on your feet, for the time being? While I get something to use on you?”

Though the Pet seemed a little wobbly, he nodded. He reached back to gently touch the plug nestled between his cheeks. He could feel it still radiating its energy into him, but it was subdued, at level one.

Subtly shaking his head, the black-haired Trainer went to his little table. Once there, he busily prepared some helpful items.

Heero rubbed at his sore throat, wincing, upset at the level he’d sunk to for the sake of avoiding more punishment. Part of him was impressed he could forget about his audience long enough to ejaculate, at all. He didn’t think he had it in him, the ability to get-off in front of strangers, even if he did do it by retreating into his mind and indulging himself as though he were alone. He wondered if on some level, there was a way he could find enjoyment in being wanted by others, lusted for, not just wanting-

“Gimme your ass,” Wufei said, approaching Heero with a glass syringe in hand.

The words interrupted Heero’s train of thought and jolted him back to reality. Without thinking about it, Heero turned and presented his rear to his Trainer. Anything to make the game be over, quickly.

After wiping a spot on the boy’s small, round ass with an alcohol-soaked cloth, the Trainer jammed the needle into it. As he injected the liquid into the boy’s offered flesh, he said, “This is my own blend. I use it on Pets like you who really need to relax, and slow down, and get used to the idea that Pets should be sexy and slightly lazy for their owners.”

Sourly, Heero said, “But it’ll burn me if I don’t hurry.”

“It’ll merely hurt you,” Wufei said. He patted the Pet’s ass and then strode away from him to sit at his console.

Heero’s thoughts began to slow. Then, his dick pulsed and then rose to be fully, achingly hard, and the boy hadn’t even had a sexy thought, yet. Heero languidly stroked his raging hardon. Time seemed to fall away from him. He was trying to hurry himself, but the drugs in his system had the insidious effects preventing him from doing so. Heero kept looking to Wufei, wondering at the sadistic mind that’d come up with an aphrodisiac that’d also make a Pet have some difficulty pleasuring himself. His muscles seemed determined to move just a little slower than his mind was commanding them to, and he also felt weak, like he had a fever. So, when he made real progress toward reaching an orgasm, before he hit that pinnacle, he’d get tired and have to slow down or stop.

The stream chat was overjoyed with the show Wufei had provided them, and Wufei kept giving the credit to Zechs Merquise (who hadn’t shown up in the chat. And that suited Wu fine, because it was more like having Heero all to himself for the afternoon). He kept catching Heero giving him death-glares in the mirror, and Wufei would smirk back at him, the image distorted and obscured by Heero’s cum and sweat and breath on the glass.

When he’d finally at long last reached his orgasm, Heero’s dick released almost as much fluid as during his first. He felt the plug in him go cold. He practically hugged the mirror for support as his legs threatened to give out. He clung there, shivering, hoping his cock would soften, but knowing it wouldn’t until the injection wore off.

Wufei unhooked the chains from the Pet’s collar.

Heero fell to his knees, exhausted.

“Almost at the end,” Wufei said. He put a hand to the back of Heero’s head and guided him closer to the mirror. Then, he commanded, “Clean up your mess.”

Heero leaned closer to his reflection and extended his tongue in silence.

__________

Qalen sat bolt upright in bed. He was drenched in sweat. He stared at his fully grown, pale form of nineteen years in his bedroom mirror, catching his breath. He took a few moments to stare at his blonde hair. He said to his reflection, “You are a Blondie. You are nobody’s Pet. It’s all been over and done with for six months. That was just a dre- nightmare.” He corrected himself with a pointing finger.

He looked down at himself. Sweat wasn’t the only thing that’d drenched his sheets while he slept. He bundled up the semen-soaked fabric and tossed it to the corner where he didn’t have to look at it. He stalked out of his bed chamber, still naked and wet.

It was still early, barely passed midnight.

He found himself at the drink cart in his main living area. He grabbed a bottle of something, and an irritating blinking caught his eye. He turned to look at it, and found it was on the communications console. Someone left him a voicemail. Voicemails weren’t usually how people left him information, and it was especially odd to see one at that time of night.

Grumbling, he hit play while he unstoppered the bottle. The contents of the message had him raising his eyebrows. When it finished playing, he had himself a swig from that bottle, and thought.

Relative to the events of the last eight months, getting reprimanded in a drunken voicemail by someone he’d never met, was insignificant. Qalen Winner found he felt more curious about the call, than angry. But, still, being talked to so disrespectfully wasn’t the kind of thing someone in Station Command could ignore.

He sat cross-legged on his floor of the opulent-yet-sparse main living room of his suite with his laptop, and poked around in the personnel records and communication logs. Most of the words were loudly slurred, so the intended goal of the message remained a mystery. The call itself was coded with a name and rank, so all he knew upon the first listen was that it was someone from the flight deck. But, he didn’t recognize the name from much of anything.

Qalen honestly considered himself blessed that the station staff were all well-trained and familiar with everything that needed to be done. The place practically ran itself. (That being said, his people needed final approval from the Blondie for sooooo much. But, fortunately pretty much every report about a problem that hit his desk had a request for the best solution built into it by the author. The stress of the job came from needing to be awake and alert to coordinate all those disparate efforts). This was the first disciplinary issue that’d fallen into his lap, and it’d been a solid six months since Jupiter gifted him with the command post. Everything else, a more immediate superior handled, because the chain of command was a beautiful thing.

He hadn’t seen this name popping up on any reports, which meant whoever this guy was, he wasn’t a frequent problem. So, he did a location search to find out the point of origin of the call. The coordinates that popped up matched a bar, which came as no surprise. He accessed the surveillance cameras in the establishment. He calmly clicked around to the time index around when the call started.

A bunch of military pilots were in a group in a booth, so he zoomed in on them. They looked like they were generally having a good time. There was plenty of drinking going on, but nobody was dancing on the table or anything. A handsome redhead that looked about Qalen’s age had several more glasses in front of him than any of the others. He was the only one tapping on the computer on his wrist. Everyone else was getting up and leaving.

With a keystroke, The Blondie turned on the feed’s audio.

“I’m maaaakin’ the call right nooow,” he was saying. But sounded like he was asking himself a question. He downed another drink.

“Sure, buddy,” said one of his friends. It didn’t sound like she believed him. She was a young woman with what might have been purple hair, or the cameras and lighting in that bar made it look that way. She waved at him while showing him her back and left the bar with the rest of the crew.

Qalen took a quick screencap of her face. He thought about having the computer run facial-recognition to find her, but he had no patience for how long that typically took without interfacing with Jupiter. He didn’t want to involve Jupiter with his first case of needing to discipline his staff. That felt like. . . That felt like calling in an air-strike when brandishing a school-room cane, would do. He knew she was a pilot, the uniform gave that away. He left her picture up on the screen, and in another window he looked through the roster of flight deck personnel until he found her ID. Noin. That name, he remembered; she was in a leadership role.

With a sigh, Qalen opened new windows and took a look at what cells were available in the stockade. He couldn’t just ignore that call. He wanted to, but he knew it’d only create more problems, if he did. He figured it was best to nip rebellion and rage while it was small and manageable. He found a suitable cell in the isolation wing that’d do nicely for what was needed. It was a bare rectangle. The only real feature in the room was a cut-off pipe in an upper corner that constantly dripped water down into the sewers through a barred section of the floor. There was nothing else, apart from a light in the center of the ceiling. That is, there was nothing else noticeable in there. There were cameras in there, the size of insect eyes. 

Qalen was satisfied it wasn’t an unreasonably cruel cell. If the guy needed water, it was there. If he needed to excrete waste, he wouldn’t be stuck in the same room with it. Qalen almost felt that it was too humane. If he were one of the cold Blondies with an established reputation. . . his brother, Zechs. . . He wondered at the punishment they’d inflict to avoid looking weak, soft. . . He wondered if he was about to be too soft. Blondies should be preternaturally skilled at dominating men. Sadism and cruelty should be second nature, not, second-guessing everything he was thinking. He sighed, and tried to focus. Much of the stockade was designed around torture and discomfort and extracting confessions. He didn’t have much of a problem with making a criminal suffer. But, this was one of his pilots. And the guy’s only crime was being angry and disrespectful. Qalen had to make the pilot suffer for it, but he also wanted to resist turning into exactly the cruel sort of Blondies he’d been under the power of. He gave the fate of the pilot a few extra moments’ worth of thought. 

Then, he put in an audio-only call to The Enforcers. He told them to pick up the redhead, and which cell to dump him in. He told them to keep him in there for thirty six hours. And he told them to tell the prisoner how long he was to be kept there for, and on whose orders. They were to tell him Station Command received his call. They were to tell him the insults were not appreciated. They were to show him a g-string and a Pet Ring, and say, “If Station Command was into what you said they were, this is all you’d be wearing.” And the Pet Ring was to be set to hover a few inches above the floor in the cell, the g-string left inside the cell as well, so he had all that to think about.

Qalen hoped the guy wasn’t so drunk that he blacked out and forgot everything.

When he hung up, he was pleased with himself that he kept mostly to the ‘high road.’ The Enforcers were a generally sadistic bunch, so he wasn’t worried about being thought ill of or judged for the extra “accessories” left in the cell with the prisoner to give him things to think about. He didn’t want to be a Blondie who demanded respect, but who earned it. And that meant treating free people with dignity, even if they earned his ire. It also meant doling out punishment when someone very obviously went out of their way to make a nuisance of themselves. And he wasn’t quite sure how to balance those needs.

__________

He got himself dressed before he vid-called the young woman.

She answered almost immediately, surprised and flustered, and she said, “Ah! Yes Sir?” 

“Good evening, Lieutenant Noin. I’m Qalen Winner. I know we’ve never spoken before. But, I’d like you to visit my quarters, as soon as possible. I won’t take much of your time. I realize it’s quite late. But, I’d like to have a face-to-face conversation.”

Her eyes widened, and she said, “Now, Sir? Uh, yes Sir. I’ll be there momentarily.”

“Thank you,” he said. He closed the connection.

He crossed to where he left the computer on the floor, and he picked it up. It wouldn’t do to meet his first houseguest since arriving on station, seated on the floor like a Commoner. He crossed to the table that was against the wall and dropped the laptop on it. Then, he went to the kitchen to put a kettle for tea on.

Despite that he’d grown up in a splendid house, Qalen lived quite simply on the station. During his time in captivity, he’d learned he actually needed very little. The tea set was one of the few beautiful things he’d had sent from the planetside household. He liked it because it only conjured good memories of his father on bright mornings, happier days when he was kid. Normally, he drank any given beverage from the same mug, but the presence of company called for a formal fancy tea set. He did not wake his Furniture, Ahmad. He was certain he could get through a five minute conversation without needing someone to clear off the table and bring in new refreshments.

When Noin arrived and was invited in, she had certain expectations. She expected him to be more grand, more dramatic. But, his clothing was a simple black bodysuit with a white robe clasped with gold down his side. She expected him to be older. But, he was her age. She expected a Pet napping on a cushion, but there were no indications anyone else lived there. She spent some braintime trying to toss rumors about Blondies out the proverbial window as the conversation started.

“Pleased to make your acquaintance. Please make yourself comfortable. Help yourself to some tea, if you’d like,” Qalen said, having met her at the door. He led her to the sitting area. He had no idea how to host a lady for tea, and he intended to make that no secret. He wasn’t taking in too many details about Noin. He saw she was in a military jumpsuit (most anyone with a job on the station wore a jumpsuit. Fashion required a lot of pieces, and resources to spare on non-essentials, in space, weren’t always readily available). And he saw he was wrong about her hair color (it was black). And beyond that point, he didn’t give a single thought to her appearance (he had liked boys since a very early age).

She waited for him to sit, and she said, “Thank you for inviting me, Sir. I must confess, it was a huge surprise.” She sat on the couch, after Qalen settled onto the love-seat. Her eye was drawn to the tea set on the coffee table, both because he indicated it, and because there wasn’t much else to look at, in there. The kettle had lemon-scented steam wafting up from it. 

“Yes, I can imagine. It seems my station’s flight teams don’t know me, at all. I suppose that’s my fault. One of them felt confident enough to cold-call me, though,” he said, considering things. He’d made no effort to get to know anyone aboard. He didn’t want to. As a Blondie, he shouldn’t have felt he needed to know anybody. But something was eating at him, after getting that message. He didn’t really care if they knew him well, but he definitely wanted them to know he wasn’t like the Blondies who were famous for cruelty. Zechs’ face with that familiar smile flashed unbidden in his mind, and he flinched. He carried on talking as though that hadn’t happened, saying, “If you all did, I think the voicemail I received would have been less harsh. I couldn’t make out a lot of it. And I can’t recall all his exact phraseology. It’s long. But I vividly recall him calling me a ‘Filthy Pet Trafficker.’ Jupiter and I both take corruption very seriously. And I don’t like unfounded accusations thrown my way. Since I can’t talk with him right now, on account of the alcohol content of his bloodstream, I thought you might be able to shed some light on that call? You were with him, tonight.”

Her face got more pale (she was naturally pretty pale), and then her hand came up to rub her temple. She found herself looking at the floor, because she was embarrassed for her squadmate. So, she missed his little flinch. The disbelief in her voice was genuine as she said, “Oh my god, I can’t believe he did that. Sir, I assure you, no one on the flight deck seriously thinks that about you.”

“Thanks. I feel better, already,” he said with a cute smile. He leaned forward a little and rested his elbows on his knees. “Do you know why he thinks that?” he asked, his head slightly tilted.

She took a breath and ventured, “I don’t think it’s about you, personally?” Her shrug was helpless. The whole meeting took on a casual air very quickly. Station life was different. She gestured back and forth with her hands while she explained the causes and effects of the state of affairs, saying, “Okay well, alright. I don’t know when the last time they were mentioned in the official reports, so you might not have heard yet. It’s what you’d call an open secret. There’s a meet that takes place once a month or so. Smugglers. They jump in, orbiting the nearest star, close to the corona, swap cargo, and get out. It’s been said that sometimes smugglers have docked here at the station, but they don’t risk transactions and transfer of cargo at the same time. Our team. . . we want to put a stop to it. But, getting to close-orbit over the star is a long flight from here. Station Command has never approved the fuel, let alone the risk to loss of life or property in a firefight. Because Command won’t crack the whip on the smugglers, some people are willing to believe it’s being allowed to go on for a reason. Like for example, a lot of Blondies are rumored to like dangerous, unusual, or illegal Pets, and don’t care where they get them.”

Qalen’s face lost some color. He almost commented that kidnapped victims being Pet-Trained might be more common than she thinks, but he decided against it. He filled in a few blanks by saying, “And Blondies don’t fraternize, so, I wouldn’t know about that prevailing attitude unless it occurred to someone to specifically tell me. And, the smuggler’s meeting-place isn’t written about in the official reports that come in to me about daily operations, because in the past, Station Command ignored them. So, nobody wants to waste the keystrokes. I didn’t learn any of this until someone got angry and drunk enough to speak truth to power and risked the consequences. . .” 

Noin looked at him, gently, and said, “With respect, I know this situation paints a dark picture. But, it’s not the prevailing attitude. When you accepted the assignment, you didn’t just fire everyone and fill key positions with your own people. Most changes in Command come with a trickle-down effect, and yours didn’t. I know a lot of people were happy there weren’t unnecessary shake-ups. That guy, just. . . there’s something in his past about smugglers or the black market that boils his blood. I don’t know what it is, yet. He was transferred in a couple months ago. I haven’t learned too much about him, yet.” If Noin was curious about how her friend was being punished, she didn’t ask. She found herself looking around, and she said, “I would never over-step, or presume, but if you are worried about your reputation affected by rumors, perhaps make it known you don’t possess any Pets? Nobody can accuse you of shopping on the black market if you don’t have anything that could come from there.” There weren’t any cushions on the floor, or convenient tether-points on any of his furniture, so she assumed he lived a life without any Pets. She wasn’t actually sure if that was a good or bad sign.

Nodding, Qalen leaned back. He heard everything she said, but he decided to stay focused on the topic that mattered the most to him. He said, “He feels strongly about it. I’ll speak with him after he sobers up. How do you feel about the situation? Would you like to fly in a combat mission to do something about them? An ambush, if we can set one up. To at least bloody their noses and scare them outta the sector, if not seize their cargo and liberate it.” His cobalt eyes betrayed he had strong feelings; cold rage had ignited behind them. He had a personal stake in stemming the flow of trafficked Pets, too. He did notice that she called Pets ‘things,’ and he tried very hard not to take offense. _Qalen, you are not a Pet_ , he told himself.

She decided she would like some tea, and she poured herself a cup while she mulled over how to respond. “I was never comfortable with the idea criminals have been getting away with shady dealings, just outside our defense perimeter,” she answered. “It makes me. . . well, it makes my team look weak. Impotent? Yeah,” she said. She honestly had no idea why she felt so comfortable with Qalen. But, she resolved to try to be more formal and proper and consider his rank before she spoke, in the future.

“Then, you need to do something for me,” Qualen said, spreading his arms across the back of the loveseat. “This story of getting shouted at and shamed into action can’t get out. People can’t know someone with a rank so much lower than mine drunk-dialed me, berated me, and lived to tell the tale. I’ll be a laughing stock. And then, I’ll be replaced. And then there will be one of those shake-ups everyone apparently wants to avoid.”

Noin didn’t disagree with any particular point. She added some sugar and a dollop of milk to her teacup while she said, “I’ll lean on him, Sir. After you’ve satisfied your pride with teaching him a lesson, what do you think our first steps should be?”

“Before he’s even out of the stockade, start your team simulator training on attack-dives into ships orbiting the star, and retrieval of abandoned cargo, or retrieval of disabled ships from that gravity-well. I want training flights with the actual ships as soon as you’re confident your fellow pilots won’t get careless and, and well, crash.”

She sipped from her cup, mildly surprised at his decisive nature despite his lack of experience running a station. “Yes, Sir,” she said, smiling. “May I make a suggestion?” she asked.

He gestured for her to go right ahead.

“There’s an engineer who I believe can help us keep our edge sharp. Doctor J. He’s a bit of a whack-a-doo, but he’s brilliant. Involving him will only increase our odds of success,” she said, and then she drank more. It was delicious, and she wondered if he had access to fresh lemons. “Apart from him, I think we should keep the mission concept strictly under wraps. I have no idea who these pirates are or how extensive their network is, Sir. Or who around here might owe them,” she finished.

Qalen resisted rolling his eyes at her last suggestion, because of course he knew that. He was a Blondie. They spent most of their lives embroiled in some secret thing or another. But, her previous suggestion sounded helpful. “I’ll look him up,” he said. Then, he remembered to follow it up with, “Thank you.” He intended it to mean for generally all of her input. He wasn’t used to talking with people, anymore. His etiquette had slipped, since coming to the station. 

Pleased that she was found to be helpful, and a part of an important mission beyond just the day-to-day station operations, she smiled and said, “I’m glad to have been of service. I wish our first talk wasn’t because of something so embarrassing done by one of my team, though.”

With a small shrug, Qalen said, “He got emotional, and it compromised his better judgement. It happens to the best of us.” He breathed easily, after he said that. But, it was starting to feel like the conversation was going to lead to topics that weren’t helpful, and it was already late. “It’s been a pleasure having you, Miss Noin,” he said.

She finished her tea and set the cup down, and sensed that was her cue to get out of there. “Happy to help, and thank you for the tea,” she said. 

They stood up at about the same time, and he showed her out.

“Good night, then.”

“Good night.”

__________

Qalen logged into a VRMMO he’d been relaxing in for the last couple of months, a fantasy world of the swords and dragons variety. He needed to get out of his head, after Noin left.

His avatar was a gorgeous elf man whose proportions mirrored his own, in the real world. His hair was jet black and straight, and he wore it in a ponytail that hung past his shoulders. His armor covered his arms, completely, and his abs and pecs were protected. His sides were left exposed, and his back was merely criss-crossed with straps. Otherwise, he was clad in only a warrior’s loincloth and boots that incorporated greaves and knee-protectors.

He loved it there. In the game-world, it was currently the height of summer, which meant there were so many gorgeous guys wearing even less than he opted to. He was a warrior; so he could cut loose and run and climb and fight things and scream and express whatever manly emotions he felt like without being considered undisciplined and unseemly by his peers. And, he didn’t dress his character like that just to keep cool, but to show off that he was strong. Yeah, he was showing off his muscles, but, it was more than that. He was emotionally strong, too. Leaving so much skin exposed made him braver than Qalen’s real-world self. The elf smiled and waved when he found he was being admired from afar. His ass wasn’t being shown off because Master was putting him on display at a party, his ass was on display because it was his idea to be proudly strutting it around. It wasn’t that Qalen was playing a ‘better version of himself in better circumstances’ but more like, a version of himself he could have been and wants to be.

Of course, he didn’t consciously intend to use the game as therapy. He just wanted to inhabit the life of a strong warrior now and again, take a break. It just happened to work out that the character wasn’t afraid of any of the things he was.

He walked from his house down to the village, and _nobody_ reacted to him. He breathed. He wasn’t important, and it was wonderful.

There weren’t any Blondies, in the game. No player was in charge of other players, as far as the game’s core design was concerned. An Elite couldn’t appear from around the corner and command you. Your character had no Elite to serve, but instead, had to find his own calling. In fact, blonde hair wasn’t even a character-creation option, probably because the developers were afraid Jupiter would have them killed for enabling the people to make a mockery of her magnificent socio-economic system. But at the same time, the game wasn’t a rallying cry. It wasn’t out to show people ‘how amazing life could be without Jupiter,’ it’d be more accurate to say it made the case for why Jupiter was the greatest gift humanity had ever gotten. The game world always had twists and turns, so nothing was ever simple. There always were different factions battling over territory, seizing towns and resources for their people, monster hordes attacking, tentacles dragging the unsuspecting down into the deep dark.

Sure, Qalen could have a dwelling in one of the bigger in-game cities, where something was always happening, where there were bars and enemy sieges and such. But he liked the quiet in the country. There were evenings when he just sat and listened to the wind and watched the lake, watched the breeze make waves in the grass. He never spent much time outside, before he came to live in space. He found himself missing it.

He checked if any of his fellow player buddies he’d made in the game were online. Not a one. That was okay, he wasn’t really in the mood for more socializing. He liked his friends, he just didn’t want to have to use any more energy on being social.

The best day of his station-life so far took place in the game, after he’d made friends with Mattias. Qalen found a post on the board put up by a thief, the man wanted to get a small group together to explore caves where a dead scoundrel supposedly hid treasures. Qalen sent a response, and they chatted about things for a good long time. When Qalen saw Mattias, he was a happy Blondie indeed, for the man was short and strong and smooth-bodied and fair-skinned (so flogger-marks would show so nicely). Mattias’ muscle-build was beyond what most Blondies wanted in a Pet, but what did those idiots know. Qalen wondered if his avatar-face blushed when his real one did.

They did agree to pair-up (for adventuring!), and the day consisted of climbing, spelunking, and watching each other’s backs in fights with very scary and large bears. He thought they weren’t going to survive the fights, but they kept making their own luck. Then, the treasure was _right there_ , and there was a sudden cave-in that nearly killed the both of them. Frustrated and disappointed and angry that he’d gotten so far, only to see their goal snatched away from them, he started digging, throwing rocks out of the way, snarling and shouting curse words. Because he could do that, in that world. He could allow himself to show he was emotionally invested in things. He could break shit and throw things. He could escape his responsibility to present the proper decorum and haughty superiority of his position as a Blondie. He didn’t _have to_ demonstrate control over himself as well as others.

Mattias liked playing the game in a crafty and thinking-like-a-thief way. He figured out he could squirm and wiggle his way through the debris to get to their glittering prize. He’d have to take off most of his gear to accomplish it, so he prayed he didn’t have to defend himself from attack while he was looting the crevice. He told Qalen the plan while undressing.

Qalen stopped digging and stood aside to watch the layers come off his new friend. He said, “If you cause another cave-in and die, you will be a cautionary tale I tale, forever.” With an amused smile, Qalen watched Mattias’ barely-clad backside shimmy its way out of view while he wormed through the hole in the debris. Qalen was ‘fortunately’ spared from a moral quandary (he would have greatly enjoyed it if Mattias got stuck in that hole with his rear so accessible, but then, he’d have been torn between the consequences of mocking/molesting Mattias and the obviously selfless and good choice of helping him get unstuck with as much dignity left intact as possible). It was only a game, but most things felt real enough; and Qalen had no idea how Mattias would handle being fondled. He knew he could easily make him like it, physically. But. . . that was the Blondie-thinking in him. He didn’t like that part of him was wired exactly like Zechs, that part of him saw cute/hot dark-haired boys as toys put here by Jupiter for him to play with, to make them Furniture or Pets at his whim. Experience had taught him the truth of the anguish that came from the inner-conflict of being touched against one’s will, and the further horror of one’s body made to thoroughly enjoy it. He didn’t want to put Mattias through that. And yet, part of him did, part of him hungered for doing exactly that. But, he didn’t have to think about it for too long, because his partner in treasure-looting didn’t get stuck. Qalen collected the hard-earned treasures as Mattias passed them through the narrow hole. He did _not_ just run away with it all and cut Mattias out of his fair share, knowing he’d have a head start. Qalen watched Mattias fight his way back out of the treasure-pit, and he helped drag him out by one of his wrists. Mattias was filthy and covered in scrapes and it was with some sorrow that Qalen watched him get dressed. Yes, he stared lamentably as Mattias covered up again. But then he said, “Well, now we definitely have to get you cleaned up. And I want to cool off.”

Archly, Mattias smiled and said, “Got something in mind?”

Qalen didn’t quite know what to make of Mattias’ reaction, because it could have meant a lot of things. But he said, “Let’s go to the lake!”

Mattias shrugged and followed along, still smiling. Halfway to the lake, he blurted out, “OMG we did it! You got us passed the bears!”

“You got us passed the debris!”

The glimmering lake was a glorious sight after the dim underground caverns. The boys stripped down on the shoreline, next to each other. Qalen very intentionally did some showing off. Mattias didn’t seem to notice, focused instead on getting his clothes off to get into the water. When they found themselves strolling into the water, side-by-side, they discovered they had an unspoken agreement to race to the bottom. Qalen won. Okay, well neither of them could hold their breath long enough to get to the real bottom of the lake, but Qalen gave up last. When they reached the surface, they had a splashing war, like children. Mattias won. Then actual children joined in on the splash war after the ‘grown’ boys were laughing and getting over it. It wasn’t a private lake, anyone in the game coulda been around, and lots of kids played in that world. 

And as Mattias and Qalen got dressed, they were invited to dinner by a bunch of girls who were hanging out and fishing for men (and fish). The boys agreed, and it was a grand ol’ time.

But then Qalen wanted real food, and had to log out of virtual to get it. He left the party while the vibes were still good. He got a friend-request from Mattias after he left.

Since that day, Qalen made sure he looked for him. It was just so nice to spend time with someone, and it wasn’t about the power dynamics or serving someone or enjoying someone’s place under you.

And that was how Qalen knew beyond a doubt that the Pet training. . . broke him. He was a Blondie; he was supposed to be wired with a sense of noblesse oblige and take deepest joy in having chained men and boys under his boots, being responsible for them, commanding them. . . not take joy in escaping from that, into a game world.

He walked his avatar back to his house, having picked up a few things from the NPC running the shop. He watered his flowers. He worked on importing some of the furnishings and things he’d made with the game’s design tools. It was simple, just a set of time-sink tasks.

Part of him knew he’d never be able to tell Mattias everything. Mattias would never be someone who truly knew the real him, who’d truly stick around.

His thoughts turned to people who did know the real him. . . and found himself realizing that was almost nobody. There was Trowa. Trowa knew the whole story. If Trowa was around, he could talk to him about whatever was on his mind. Trowa liked peace, and he had a feeling he’d like it out there on the station. . . But, he couldn’t talk to Trowa, because of what Jupiter did to him, and many others.

What had he said to Noin about. . . he’d forgotten his name. The angry redhead? He decided he could just call him Red, in his head. Anyway he said to Noin, Red got emotional and made an imprudent decision. He’d said it happened to the best of them.

He wanted everyone to forget, wanted his humiliation to be buried. It wasn’t his idea; it was Jupiter’s idea. Still, he didn’t argue with her about it. He was angry and hurting, when he was restored to his proper rank in society, and he just wanted to move on. He supposed he could have handled it worse. Jupiter was ready to mass-execute Pets, so at least he talked her out of that. Jupiter wiped everyone’s memories of Qalen’s time as “Heero,” a Pet. Nobody would know what was done to him. Nobody would remember he was displayed and paraded and violated. 

Long after everything was decided, and he was out in space away from Tanagura, he found himself wishing he had friends who understood what he’d gone through. He knew he wasn’t supposed to. He knew Blondies were supposed to be powerful and detached from humanity, above needing connections with others. But, that didn’t make his feelings any less present. He wished some people were only sworn to secrecy and that he could talk to them about it all, without being doubted, without sounding insane.

He wished he could talk with Trowa, the Trowa who tried to take good care of him. But, Trowa didn’t know him anymore.

He wondered about how exactly Wufei and Trowa had found out his true identity. He wondered what exactly was in that tea they gave him. He remembered when Trowa started dressing him in bodysuits that actually covered his body, and he wondered if he ever thanked Trowa for that. He wondered if he ever thanked him for trying to talk Zechs out of sending him to the Pet Spa, thanked him for rescuing him from that awful conversation with Duo.

Silently, he cursed Quatre’s and Treize’s names. They were really why everything that happened to him, happened. Zechs ruined him, but at least Zechs technically saved his life, wanted him to remain living. Zechs was a monster, but Zechs didn’t hatch a plot to register his own brother as a Pet, alter his body against his will, and dump him someplace in the slums to be dismembered by a gang, or worse. No, he wasn’t going to forgive Zechs for anything he did, ever. He just wanted to sort out who deserved his anger. He wished he’d done something to Quatre, personally, instead of just surrendering to the will of Jupiter

So many unanswered questions, the lack of closure, were probably why his dreams were so vivid and powerful. . . . He’d truly hated trying to sleep, for the past few months.

Ruefully, he realized he’d logged into the game to get out of his head. But then, he spent time in his head, being haunted by everything in there.

He logged out. He wondered if Doctor J was still up.

__________

It was very late, or very early, when Qalen headed toward the flight deck.

He loved the walk there. He had to take a corridor that was a short-cut from the central pillar to the outer edge of the station; it was walled by windows showing the commerce decks beneath him. The corridor turned into a kind of bridge that authorized personnel could use to skip all the hustle and bustle and get to the docking bays, accidentally-on-purpose showing off the vibrant daily lives of the station’s denizens (or it would have, if anyone was awake at that unholy hour, but virtually nobody was). All the restaurants and cafes with their ‘outdoor’ (as outdoors as being on a space station would get) seating were in view. The market vendors had so many clever displays, some included holograms. Most of the clothing shops made extensive use of masks, and had mirrors half-hidden among the racks. So often, Qalen felt the station was a sterile place of cold metal and reinforced glass. But that view reminded him that people’s lives were here, and they brought their cuisine and their stories and their fashion and their strange gods and their baggage with them into space. Even if they intended to just start new and fresh, there were things they didn’t want to let go of.

The lift to the flight deck had glass walls. They showed off the panoramic view of all the civilian docking bays, and the view of outer space beyond the station. The pale white star shone bright enough to drown out most of the heavenly bodies in that swath of the sky. Its light warmed him, and he found himself surprised to find he’d forgotten what direct sunlight felt like.

The doors from that lift opened to the mechanics’ and engineering section of the flight deck. Sleek, precise, deadly ships designed for combat lay in semi-organized piles. But he admitted, it wasn’t so disorganized as to be unsafe, as he threaded between haf-disassembled spacecraft.

Basically nobody was around. None of the maintenance staff was on duty yet. The fighter pilots on duty for launching at a moment’s notice were in the Pilot’s Lounge, thoroughly engrossed with their card game. So, they had no idea Station Command was anywhere near them.

Doctor J’s desk was in the maintenance area, far from The Lounge (and the pilots’ drama). The Lounge had floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the fighter bay, which meant Doctor J could see into it from his desk. It was blessedly too far to make out many details of what they got up to, even when he squinted.

“Your timing’s good, actually. Got a lot of balls in the air, at the moment. Waiting for one of them to come down. Welcome, Sir. I’m Doctor J. What would you like to see first?” the scientist asked without even a hint of awkwardness at meeting with the Blondie in charge of the station.

Qalen guessed it wasn’t the old man’s first time. Doctor J seemed to be the straight to business type, and that suited Qalen fine. “Let’s start talking about the equipment requirements for the upcoming mission,” The Blondie said.

The Doctor gestured for the Blondie to follow him. He walked to a console displaying the status of the fighter craft in that particular bay, intending to use it to provide visual aids about what he was talking about.

Qalen did, wondering if everyone on the station would become casual around him so quickly.

“The fighters’ plasma shields will keep the solar wind from being an issue for the ships and pilots. These smugglers are smart, doing cargo transfers in orbit of a star. At the first sign of trouble, they can dump their cargo and then it’s all vaporized. No evidence.”

“That would be especially bad if some of their cargo is alive.”

“Right!? So, our craft on their own don’t have a way of rescuing dumped cargo. At least, not right this second. I’m putting a design together for some kind of net-deploying warhead that can fold a plasma shield around an object it’s capturing. I’m in the early stages of it. I’ll put a report together for you when I have specifics on what materials I need.”

“I’m surprised nobody’s thought of that, before.”

“Chances are good someone has. But plasma fields aren’t easy to power, missile engines aren’t that big, and their fuel reserves are far from inexhaustible. So, the shields will be relatively short-lived. The pilots will have to capture cargo with the missiles, and then quickly tow the claimed items away from the intense radiation of the star, before the warheads shields run out and the cargo is destroyed by the radiation. It’s too bad I can’t use GL applications for this, engineers have done wonders with gravity-lens technology. Heh, elevator platforms and Pet Rings running GL tech can be programmed to fly with nanite-precision, and it’s reactionless propulsion that can move hundreds of times its own mass. That system can only work in a big enough gravity well so it has something to refract. . . like on planetside, so, in the empty cold of space. . . it’s worthless. . . .But, I’m an idiot. It’s not the cold dead of space we’re talking about, it’s the close orbit of a star, with lots of gravity to bite into. Which means I can build a warhead that can capture an object with a gravity lens, and wrap a plasma shield around it, and program the gravity lens to propel itself with the captured item into a higher, safer orbit. That’d free the pilots from having to tow anything, they could just shoot these cargo-capturing missiles at targets and carry on with apprehending the smugglers. Perhaps the gravity lenses could sling-shot themselves into an orbit that’ll take the captured cargo all the way back here to the safety of the station. . . I’ll have your capture-missiles designed and proposed by the end of the week,” he said, his whole thought-process verbalized as it occurred to him.

“I’ve never been present for a scientist’s eureka moment,” Qalen said, with a soft smile. His face somehow didn’t darken at the mention of Pet Rings. Maybe he was too tired to experience a moodswing. He did like that Doctor J was going to be repurposing the technology that kept him a prisoner into a tool of liberation for trafficked Pets (assuming there were any in the shipments they intended to intercept).

“Sometimes talking out the problem aloud leads to a solution. Never works when I talk to myself, so I hope you choose to start visiting more often. At any rate, I’m waiting on a shipment of carbon composite panels to coat the ships in, render them invisible to the smugglers’ detection systems. Apart from that, I suggest putting a beacon tuned to the ships’ hyperspace drives in a high orbit of the star. That way they can get there very quickly, without a tiny computer error in navigation causing any of our brave pilots to fly into a star and explode, or miss the action entirely. Assuming the beacon’s signal won’t just get drowned out by the star. I’m also worried about the levels of interference the star produces effecting the pilots’ ZERO systems, robbing them of their swarm-like efficiency and team-based strategies. This generation of pilots have never flown combat without being in each other’s heads,” he said.

At mention of the pilots, Qalen looked up at the lounge. He found himself smiling. The two guys who were still ‘in’ the game were laughing and throwing the discard pile at each other. He couldn’t quite believe his eyes, but he was fairly certain the other two players were bent over the card table with their jumpsuits peeled down, exposing most of their bodies. He looked the question at Doctor J, wondering what could possibly be going on, up there. But what he said was, “That’s the difference between Blondies and pilots, right up there. The pilots connect with each other. Warm, chaotic minds. And bodies too, if they like. The Blondies connect with cold, calculating metal. We don’t get dirty, or get to feel space through the seat of our flight suit, we connect to the networks all around us but don’t. . . feel them, like the pilots do.”

“If you’d like to fly, merely say the word. There’s always room in the simulators when Station Command needs to get some space under him. I don’t believe Jupiter frowns upon a Blondie piloting a fighter. But even still, what she doesn’t know, won’t hurt her. Knowing the Blondies’ affinity for math, and your superhuman bodies, you’ll be qualified to fly in open space in no-time,” said the elder doctor.

At Qalen’s silent question, Doctor J turned to look at the Lounge. He shook his head and looked back to the Blondie, “Game is called Dollmaker. Dunno how it caught on, exactly. Young people need their outlets, I suppose. Station Command, in the past, turned a blind eye. The antidote to the aphrodisiac they all take beforehand, Doll Poison, works instantly. So the game is actually less impactful to their duties than drinking, which has no antidote yet.”

Qalen’s smile turned mischievous as the Doctor explained what the pilots got up to in the wee hours of the morning. When he spoke again, he decided to leave the subject of the game, Dollmaker, alone. He said, “I don’t think I want to feel the presence of others, if I take up flying. I think I’d like to feel alone. Just me and the g forces and the acceleration. I expected to feel that kinda thing all over the place, when I came to live in space. But somehow. . . it’s all been so tamed, up here. Just walking around, we’d never know we weren’t planet-side unless we were looking out a window.”

Doctor J chuckled, because all Blondies were alike. But he didn’t share that. Instead, he said, “This mission that you’ve approved. It means a great deal to the team, to strike a blow against piracy. Thank you. We are all grateful for the chance to do what we always were meant to, defend this sector. If you should ever need anything, simply ask. Those bastards better think they’re operating in secret, where our sensors can’t see them. If they’ve spent all this time operating in orbit of that star and taunting us. . . they deserve whatever you decide to do to them.”

“I was worried I was overstepping. But there’s been nothing but support for this mission. Please do your best to keep the pilots safe and successful.”

Doctor J nodded. Then he said, “Welp I’ve got work to do, if you’ll excuse me?” He went to go do things.

Qalen was letting him go. But, then he said at the Doctor’s back, “What about a directional antenna, from here, aimed at the star? Narrow-band the ZERO system frequencies and cut through the interference? Pour enough power into it and it’d at least give the pilots a swath of territory where they could operate at full operating capacity, right?”

Over his shoulder, Doctor J said, “Jupiter would approve the resources for construction of such a thing? It can be done, but I can’t promise we’d find a regular use for it to justify the cost.”

“I’ll convince her, if you think it’ll work.”

“It’d take a lot of the reactor output, but, the math is there. It’d work.”

“I’ll convince her. Write up the proposal for me to approve?”

“Yes Sir.”

__________

Qalen retired to his quarters, and he opened his laptop. It was almost 5 AM. He knew he could function on a few hours of sleep and be fine for his shift. But, he needed to relax before he lay his head down to pass out.

He stripped entirely, and tapped the quick command to show him the security feed from the flight deck lounge. He wanted a front-row seat to their game without disrupting their group dynamic.

The losers were bent over the table. Their jumpsuits were open, pulled all the way down to bare their round asses for their buddies, the winners.

Qalen rewound the footage, to the beginning of the game. The four boys were seated at the card table, one of them was shuffling the cards. One of them was pouring drinks for all of them out of a bottle labeled with a skull and crossbones. Another among them was distributing little ampules to each player out of a case. It looked like it was the same case the mysterious bottle was kept in.

When they started playing, the guys all downed their drinks, in unison. They weren’t playing for chips, they were playing for the ampules. That was how they placed bets. At the end of every hand, though, they all drank one of their little vials.

Brows furrowed, Qalen fast-forwarded toward the end of the game.

The guys without any of the tiny glasses of liquid left, were sitting very still in their chairs. Their erections were incredibly obvious.

Qalen flipped the speakers on just in time to hear one of the quite-still boys say, “Come on, we can barely move. Can you two pick which one of us to fuck, already!?”

“He’s a pretty mouthy fuckdoll, isn’t he? Maybe I should just start give him the antidote and forget the whole thing,” one of the pilots said, teasing at releasing the contents of one of his ampules upon the still boy’s lips.

“Wouldn’t that defeat the whole purpose of your victory. . .? Don’t you wanna. . . claim me. . .?” the boy who was evidently frozen in place from the neck down, asked.

Everyone at the table devolved into fits of giggles. “Man, who talks like that!?” someone said.

The Blondie knew he should feel bad about voyeuristically spying on them. Even as he began saving the footage to the local storage of his laptop, he found himself smiling. He didn’t feel the least bit guilty. A small part of him thought of every male member of the staff as his, and he had a feeling if he didn’t indulge it, in little ways, he’d lose his damn mind. He reasoned the impulse to watch young cuties being sexual must have been why Pets became a tradition for Blondies in the first place.

He decided he should check on Red, and so he pulled up the surveillance feed from the cell the unruly pilot was being held in. The man was pacing. He wasn’t wearing just the provided g-string, which Qalen secretly hoped he might have changed into in a bid to please the Blondie he’d insulted. He knew it made absolutely no sense to hope for that. But, he was allowed to fantasize about keeping gorgeous men in isolation cells wearing very little.

Letting out a breathy moan, Qalen retreated into his own little world, masturbating to the mental images of these gorgeous guys doing things, things done to them, unaware they had an audience, aware they had an audience. . . variety was the spice of life. His mind conjured up little stories about them, pilots on aphrodisiacs needing a friendly touch, the stockade full of beautiful men who happily trade their bodies for clemency. . .whether to the Enforcers or to their benevolent Station Commander. . .

He slept, and it was almost unbroken and peaceful.

__________

Duo was face-down on the floor, his ass up and lewdly presented. The Pet Rings kept the boy resolutely in place, in a pose called Pet Position Five.

Blondie Party-goers milled around, nursing their drinks. They were talking amongst themselves, occasionally glancing at the bound Pet, but not approaching him.

Shoved forward by a hand between his shoulder blades, Heero stumbled forward.

“Mount him,” a familiar, cold voice said.

Heero wanted to! He wanted to please his Master. But there were so many eyes, so many shitty little barely-whispered comments about why would an amazing and high class guy like their friend want something so ugly as his Pet.

“If you are refusing me, it won’t be you I send to Wufei, but it’ll be Duo. Now, mount him. Or perhaps you simply need some encouragement?”

The lash across his bare buttocks made Heero’s young body tense and arch as he squealed. The act of squealing reminded him of the gag. Trowa had warned him, right before the party. Every sound he made, he’d be dosed with a hit of muir. He found himself moving forward. He was caressing Duo’s body, finding himself jealous of how easily and effortlessly Duo submitted to party games.

Duo knew how Heero was wired. And, he knew he couldn’t talk, so he didn’t ask anything Heero had to verbally respond to. He simply said, “Heero, think of the times you defeated me, the times you claimed your victory. I’ve dreamed of that, Heero, of you taking me as many times as you like, and as hard or gently as you like. Please make them come true now. It’s just like when it’s just me and Trowa, Heero, it’s just like training. It’ll just be the three of us again, soon. Please just be my champion and bear with this.”

Heero stood over Duo, listening. But Duo didn’t really get through to him, until Heero saw the almost imperceptible shimmy of Duo’s hips. He hardened for Duo, at that sexy little angle’s need and invitation. He pressed the head of his cock against Duo’s pink, soft opening. As Heero pressed forward, he did it resolutely, urgently wanting to be in him and enjoying him. He was rewarded with Duo’s muscles parting for him, and a small whimper of pain. In the past, he’d always apologized when he hurt Duo, but Duo always got angry with him for doing so and ‘ruining the mood.’ And he shouldn’t talk, with that particular gag in. So, he focused on his own pleasure, focused on enjoying the way Duo trembled from the hurt he’d just given him, and remained silent. Considering himself fortunate to have such a well-trained pairing partner, Heero rubbed his friend’s back as he gently started fucking him. The Pet Rings on him hadn’t been used to bind him, yet, and he hoped they wouldn’t be, so he could comfort and caress Duo as he claimed him throughout the party’s cocktail hour. “Slower,” said a voice he didn’t recognize. He looked up at the source, and he slowed the movement of his hips as he humped his fellow Pet. To Heero, the man seemed so impossibly tall, so strong. He couldn’t make out his face for some reason. He yelped when the crop stung his ass again, and he whimpered as the man repeated his command. Muir again poured into his mouth from the gag’s repository, the taste of it momentarily drowning out the world, and not in a good way. When his presence of mind returned, he felt so small, and his dick felt so relentlessly rock hard he couldn’t imagine he’d ever be soft again. He was so much smaller than the Blondies. He wanted so badly to please them and be praised. . . He obeyed, as different men demanded pace-changes, demanded he scratch and pinch Duo. He obeyed, and they beat him anyway. He couldn’t even be angry at them for it, because the lashes were relatively light, leaving him with throbbing warmth throughout his ass and thighs that masochistic pleasure radiated from. He tried to stay quiet. He endured it as they beat him through several orgasms. The muir reduced what would have been so many types of searing pain to hot pleasure.

The guests got bored with the display when the muir made him less reactive to being spanked. They stopped sharing the crop and were content to finish their drinks and sit and watch the pretty Pets moving together, sensually and softly humping, as though they did actually like each other. As they gradually dwindled off to their own homes, the Pets relaxed more and more.

Trowa appeared, and said, “Release Pet,” which freed Duo from The Pet Rings’ relentless hold. He rubbed Duo’s limbs to help them get mobile, again. Before he unclasped Heero’s gag, he said, “Quiet now, Master is tired from the mental strain of the party.”

Heero nodded, somberly. He backed away from Duo until his sore, Muir-effected dick was out of him. He looked around to discover nobody else was around. 

Duo very softly whispered, “You’re really my champion, Heero.” He struggled to get upright, then he hugged his friend and fellow Pet. He smelled so good. “Can I massage something nice into his ass, Trowa?” he asked with his chin resting on Heero’s shoulder.

Trowa pulled the gag free of Heero’s exhausted jaw and said to Duo, “If you promise not to tell. Now, bend over.”

Duo detached from Heero and quickly grabbed his ankles as ordered, his smooth, round rear facing the Furniture.

Trowa inserted something eye-dropper like into Duo’s rear for a moment before he pulled it out and wrapped it in a cloth. “Alright, up now. We have one more of Master’s orders to take care of. Lick up the mess you two Pets made on the floor, together. I’m to take pictures for him.”

Duo grinned while Heero scowled. Duo dropped to his knees and enthusiastically dragged his tongue though the liquid mixture resting on the shiny floor over and over again, lapping it up. His friend was more hesitant, but didn’t make him do all the work by himself.

When the floor was more or less clean, there were droplets and smears of liquids from the floor on their noses. They cutely licked and kissed each other’s faces clean.

Trowa couldn’t help but smile as he recorded that, too. They were so cute. But, he had to get the Pets out of his hair so he could do some minimal after-party-clean-up. “Go use the toilet,” Trowa eventually said, patting Duo’s butt. He knew it wouldn’t be too long before Duo had no choice but to run for the bathroom, because of what Trowa put into him. When the boy with the braid was shuffling for the bathroom, he said, “I left you something you can use on Heero’s butt right within reach of when you’re in the bath. Heero, go soak and wait for Duo. Remember, no noise. But take all the time you like. When you two are done, sleep across the foot of Master’s bed. In the morning, that’s where he expects to find you.”

A smiling Duo led Heero off by the hand. Heero walked like a zombie, his erection bobbing before him.

__________

Qalen awoke to his clock yelling at him to awaken for another wonderful day. The first sensation he registered was his soft penis was sore, and cold and damp from when he jism’d during the night. Experimentally, he reached behind himself to trace a finger down one of his buttocks. Good, all he felt was warm, smooth skin without any obvious welts or sore-spots. Good, that had just been a dream. Nightmare, he corrected himself.

He went into his bathroom and cleaned himself up. During the long shower, he was being forced to acknowledge that his subconscious was trying to tell him things. He didn’t want to listen. When he was finished washing up, he put a simple singlet on and went to the kitchen. Amhad handed him his mug filled with coffee, made just how he liked it.

Mentally, he ran through the list of things he should do with his day (apart from his job of directing his subordinates and answering the occasional asinine question and communing with Jupiter). He supposed that first, he needed breakfast, and to get dressed for real.

Then he said, “Fuck it, I can’t live like this.” He walked over to his vid-comm and called Chang Wufei. He knew he was being emotional, but he had to reach out to someone. And he had questions. Maybe he’d get answers. Maybe he wouldn’t.

Wufei answered, with a quizzical look on his face. But he was respectful. “Good morning, you’ve reached Chang Wufei. How may I be of assistance?”

Qalen looked for a flash of recognition on the Pet Trainer’s face. There was none. “Good morning. I’m Qalen Winner. I. . . am calling because I was hoping you can briefly talk. About Pet Training?” he asked. He was mad at himself for having no plan. He should have written down what he wanted to say to him, or at least have put any forethought into it.

“If you have a need of my services, I can happily make room in my schedule,” he said. He betrayed no emotion. But, he said that because he was talking to an Elite, the class of people there were often dire consequences for being anything other than accommodating to. 

It wasn’t quite until that moment that Qalen realized Wufei, his former torturer, was also afraid of crossing Elites. It made Wufei’s decision to serve him that curative tea all the more intriguing. “For the moment, I just wanted to ask you something?” he asked. But then he added, “If you have ten minutes or so. We can schedule another time, if I’m interrupting.”

Chang softly smiled, and he nodded and said, “I have some time.” Not every Elite was respectful of anyone’s time but their own. It was nice when he crossed paths with those Elites aware that people might have things to do.

Qalen asked, “Why are you so good at breaking Pets that Masters have trouble with?” Then, he sipped his coffee and listened.

Wufei looked Qalen dead in the eyes and said, “I use my persuasion skills to convince them submission to their Master’s will is their best course of action. I win their submission for their Master. Most of my peers, and The Academy, use intimidation and pain, and fear of pain to win a Pet’s obedience. That isn’t quite the same as what I do. The Academy’s methods often get the desired results, but, not always. They are designed around a Pet’s first training. I developed my skills to fit that niche need when Master’s find themselves in a position to need a Pet retrained.”

With a brief shudder, Qalen found himself remembering how short a timeframe it took for Wufei to ‘win his submission.’ It was apparent to Qalen that it wasn’t a sales pitch, or at least, not just a sales pitch. It seemed to Qalen that Wufei did believe he stood apart from other trainers. He decided to explore that, asking, “And, from what I’ve read up on you, you haven’t expressed interest in the raising or instructing of Pets at The Academy? Perhaps applying your techniques on a larger scale on the new generations of Pets?”

Wufei looked quizzically at the Blondie. He wasn’t expecting a stranger to take an interest in his career-path. Shaking his head, Wufei offered, “Bred Pets, with the traits and temperament to be excellent Pets, genetically built into them, who’ve just been awoken, don’t need my help. It isn’t until they acquire life experience, or assimilate ideas that are unhealthy for them, or attitudes compelling rebellion, or questioning the place their Master wants them in, that a Pet needs my help to see the better path for them.”

Qalen nodded. He thought for a moment, and he said, “They could be memory-reset. . . put them to a state before they had rebellious thoughts. If they’re Bred Pets, anyway. Jupiter can easily perform memory wipes. That’d be. . . a shame, though, if the Pet had acquired skills that the Master enjoyed.”

Unsure where the Elite was headed with the conversation, Wufei said, “That’s not unheard of. But, the Pet re-training and breaking I do isn’t about removing thoughts in their head, but influencing them to submit, despite the thoughts in their head. What I do is steer them right, win them over. Sometimes they just need someone with the patience to teach them, or re-teach them something from back in their early days of servitude that they’d forgotten. In addition to having to sacrifice memories, mind-wiping them tends to leave them with little personality as compared to a Pet with several years of experience behind them, and most Masters like their Pets to be. . . alive and vibrant. They are not supposed to be the same kind of possession as a robot. Their warmth and individual uniqueness are why Pets became a commonality among the Elites, yes? I think Pets are worth attempting to retrain, when something has gone wrong with them, whatever the cause was. Many Elites seem to feel the same way, but they are busy. They don’t want to have to start over with a new Pet, if they can quickly and easily have one course-corrected. . . I don’t want to see Pets disposed of, when I can step in and make that unnecessary. And so, I have a lot of clients. .”

Qalen nodded, and he said, “Many of my peers, they. . . go through Pets as quickly as you and I probably go through socks. The home I grew up in was one of exacting standards. He liked his Pets to know when to be warm and friendly, and when to be aloof decorations. But, he didn’t retire Pets readily. I think you would have liked him, my father. . . He seemed to delight in instilling the protocols of the House into them, over and over, until they served with military efficiency. He lived and breathed tradition. But he was still. . . he didn’t quit on them, and they were all the more loyal and loving, for it. And I am gratified to hear that Tanagura still has a man. . . like you, who believes that a broken or damaged Pet can be. . . recovered, or rebuilt. . . that there is a man who thinks malfunctioning Pets are. . . beautiful things worth going to the effort of saving.” Qalen didn’t expect to get so emotional, but those last words started to choke him up. He didn’t expect to end up talking about himself, didn’t think he’d start remembering the noble things about his father. He didn’t expect to find himself drawing comparisons between the hired torturer and his loving father. He added, “I find an unexpectedly noble spirit in you, Chang Wufei.”

Having no idea how to take any of this, Wufei simply said, “Excellency, I did not mean to cause any distress. I apologize.”

“I’ve recently lost my family,” Qalen explained, maybe a little too quickly.

Wufei took a breath and said, “I see. I’m sorry.”

The Blondie looked at him. He could tell from the look on Wufei’s face that while he wasn’t unsympathetic, he was curious why this vidcall happened. He thought about what Wufei had explained, that Pets weren’t supposed to be disposable robots. It made up his mind. He said, “Thank you. I am pleasantly surprised to find you aren’t what I had first thought. I have a proposal for you. I want to ask you things. But, not over the comms net. I’d like to send my yacht to fly you out here to me.” The Blondie knew he was asking for The Moon, for Chang Wufei to change his schedule around out of nowhere. So he tried to soften it with, “Please. At least think about it. Inform me over the next couple days, if you can accommodate my request? Here on station, one day is much the same as the next, so, your schedule is the one that should be accomodated. Your particular combination of client confidentiality and desire to recover broken people, may save a life.” Qalen breathed out. He should not have said that last part. He told himself he wasn’t suicidal. But then he asked himself, how sane was he? Considering who he reached out to for help, of all people, he might not be the picture of mental health.

“I’m intrigued. I’ll see how soon I can rearrange things. Thank you. I’ll get back to you, soon, Excellency” said Wufei, trying to sound neutral.

“And Wufei? If you’ve a pairing partner, I’ll provide safe passage to them as well. There’s no reason you should endure loneliness on a journey of mercy, if you’ve a companion you’d like to have along.”

“That is most generous, thoughtful, and appreciated, Excellency,” Wufei said, with a grateful nod and a smile.

“Goodbye for now,” Qalen said, nodding back. He cut the connection. Then, he asked the empty room: “What am I doing?”

__________

For the rest of the day, he got dignified-looking and just worked. Exactly two things came up outside of the routine he’d stuck with since taking the post. He issued orders for a hyperspace beacon to be launched into the orbit of the nearest star. And he uncharacteristically did have requests and suggestions of his own when he communed with Jupiter. If she suspected anything was going on with him, she didn’t call him out on it.

And while he was at work, he cyberstalked the flight team. Station life meant the crew was encouraged to fill time with as many disparate activities as possible, so as to avoid space-madness. They regularly posted dance challenges on the station’s social media servers, and Qalen was blown away by how skilled some of them were. Noin even had a few up there.

Danceable music was never crucially important to a Blondie’s upbringing. And the beats and the thumps and the joy they all seemed to take in practicing a moveset to get it right, was inspiring. 

He put a fabrication order into the computer system for a flight suit to be made for him. It matched pretty closely with the existing flight teams,’ but he was an Elite, so he got to have a stand-out one.

An update came through from Doctor J that re-outfitting had begun for one squadron of fighter craft for the upcoming mission (that had to be a record-breaking time, but Qalen didn’t actually check).

That reminded Qalen to check on the beacon’s broadcasting capabilities once it reached its target orbit. 

He checked on the pilot he’d had locked up. The poor guy was sitting quietly, cradling his hand. Qalen rewinded the video and saw it was because he’d been punching the door. He wanted to comfort him, or let him out. But, he was a Blondie, so he had to stick by his decisions.

Wufei called just after dinner.

“Hello, Chang Wufei.”

“Hello, Your Excellency. If it is convenient, I have set aside five days for flying out to visit you, starting at the end of this week.”

“Good! That’s soon. I’m glad you were able to make that happen for me.”

“It’s mostly selfish, Sir. I’ve never gotten cold-called and had such an insightful conversation with a client, before. I’m curious. Also, my pairing partner’s always wanted to go to space on his own time, so he could actually see it. He was keen for a change of scenery.”

Qalen smiled. “And what’s he do?”

“Nothing, right now. He was a Furniture. But, he’s been fired,” Wufei said, very matter-of-fact, but not inviting further discussion of his man. He wasn’t willing to lie to an Elite’s face without a very good reason.

Qalen braced for a certain name of a certain Elite to be said. But then, it wasn’t said. And he breathed easily, after that moment passed. He said, “I look forward to hosting you both. Send me your itinerary.”

Chang’s eyes narrowed in some concern, or suspicion, over how Qalen tensed regarding Trowa’s employment. But his face softened, because after all, he owed Zechs no loyalty and someone uncomfortable with his name being said was probably a potential ally. Zechs discarded his amazing Trowa, and made his Trowa sad. So, he really didn’t like him, anymore. He said, “I shall. See you soon.”

Qalen nodded and hung up.

__________

Qalen supervised, personally, when the redhead was removed from his cell. He was making sure the Enforcers were gentle.

Isolation had taken a toll on Red. When the door opened, the guy didn’t even react.

The Enforcers picked him up by his arms (Qalen sharply reminded them to be mindful of his injured hand). And strapped him to a floating gurney and took him to the hospital.

It was all seamless, and soon it was just he and Qalen in a room together.

Qalen stood over him, for a while. But then, he sighed, and he went and sat by his side. He held his uninjured hand. He couldn’t be imperious and stand over him like. . . like Zechs had stood over him.

“Where. . . this is the hospital?” Red asked.

Qalen said, “Yes, Red. You messed up your hand. The doctors are going to fix you up.”

Wide-eyed, the man finally noticed the Blondie’s hair color. He blurted out, “You’re Station Command!?” And he became instantly fearful. “Please. Let me go. . . please, please don’t put me back in there. . .” he was honestly pleading, scared, too scared too suddenly to think straight.

Qalen didn’t want to remember the emotions he had, waking up in the hospital with a predatory Blondie standing over him. So, he resolved to try to be gentle. AND he made a note to himself, he had to try and listen. He remembered what it was like being in the hospital in a flimsy little gown and nobody listening. He said, with some finality, “Calm down. Lay still. I want your punishment to be over, now.”

“Please, please! I’m sorry!” the man said, fighting the straps keeping him prone.

The Blondie commanded, “Lay still. Nobody’s going to hurt you. I am not going to hurt you. I’m here to make sure they treat you right. As I said, the doctors are going to fix up your hand. You’ll be out of action for a little while. How are you feeling, otherwise? I know it was difficult to endure. Do you need anything?”

The man was just then trying to breathe and catch up to everything that’d been said. He asked, “So. . . Wait, I’ll rejoin my unit?” He suddenly seemed to realize Qalen was holding his hand. He looked down at it, slowly coming to grips with reality. He looked up at him again, in a new light. He wasn’t expecting Station Command to have any human emotions.

“Of course. As long as you’ll do something for me,” Qalen said, holding up a finger. “Don’t even hint that the anti-piracy missions going on were because you got drunk and yelled at me. I need your promise,” he explained.

“What? So you’re. . . really doing something about them!? That’s incredible! Then I need to get out there!” he said, his attempts to escape re-invigorated. His enthusiasm tended to spur him into action, first, and thoughts, second.

Witnessing the redhead’s stubborn behavior while he was strapped down gave Qalen insight into why Zechs was so merciless with the stubborn Pet he’d gotten to the hospital. He really didn’t want to understand that man, but, here he was. Qalen snapped at Red, “Lay still, do NOT injure your hand any further, or I swear to Jupiter, I’ll have you put under.” His voice had a dangerously angry edge to it.

Shrinking back, the redhead said, “Yes Sir.”

“I have your promise of secrecy?”

“Yes Sir.”

“And if it happens again?”

“Back in the box, Sir?”

“No. So much worse, but I haven’t decided exactly what yet, Red.”

“I don’t want worse, Sir.”

“Good. Then, next time you call, be sober, and nicer. I honestly. . . could use people, who’ll tell me the truth, that isn’t in the reports. Before you’re rude to me in the future, remember squatting over that grate in the cold, small cell, hearing nothing from the outside, while you shivered in the silence.”

“Yes Sir!”

“Good. Now, I’m going to call the doctor in,” he said. He stood and crossed to the door.

“Sir? Um, you asked if I needed anything? Can I get some fresh clothes?”

“I’d think they can get you a hospital gown. That’ll look good on you,” Qalen explained with a cold smile. Honestly, he could see why Zechs had wanted to take a Mongrel Pet home from the hospital. Feisty in his restraints, even as he was scared out of his wits, he still had so much personality. He wished he couldn’t picture Red in Pet Rings and squirming, on display on a pedestal at a party he threw just to show him off. But, he could, and it was a little too easy.

“And um, Sir?”

Qalen stopped again, and he turned to look at the restrained guy once again from his failed attempt to leave the room.

“I don’t. . . I don’t know anybody, here. Can you at least notify my folks that I’m gonna be okay?”

That melted Qalen’s cold resolve to be mean and dominant. He said, “Of course I can. And, you know me, now. I’ll check on you later. Don’t worry. You’re going to be okay. Make sure you heal up from this one before you make me punish you again.”

“Thank you, Sir,” the pilot said, smiling, relieved. He took everything the Blondie said, at face value.

Just to make sure the message had been received, Qalen asked, “And, what are you forbidden from doing?”

“No drinking-and-calling with rudeness and no talking about why the mission,” Red said, somberly. Before Qalen could turn again, he added, “Thank you for doing something about them.” His tone was serious, and heartfelt.

The Blondie remembered saying something to Noin about how he’d talk with the redhead about why it mattered so much to him. But in that moment, he looked into his eyes and saw there was History, there. Hard history. He was sure it reflected in his, too. They would maybe talk about it, one day. All that truly mattered was that they knew, that they saw each other. “Make sure you listen to the doctors and heal up, so you can help,” he said with a brief nod.

Qalen went to fetch some medical staff to go tend to Red. They were brisk and respectful but he suspected they resented him for creating this work in the first place. He put it out of his head by the time he left the hospital, because after all, he coulda been a lot worse.

He put a call in to Noin, asked her to get him the contact info for Red’s family.

But since he didn’t lead with he was asking because he promised Red he’d do that, he found himself hastily explaining to her that he didn’t need the info because Red was dead (as Station Commander, he was expected to contact the next of kin, if his personnel were killed on his watch).

__________

He dreamed of Zechs. He dreamed of Pet Rings locked on him and being helpless and spread on Zechs’ huge bed. Master’s bed. Master was in the bed with him, kissing him, pinching him, biting him. He was leaving little bruises all over his body. Each mark was a little sign of his power over his Heero. His mouth and hands could wander anywhere on his Pet, hurt him anywhere, taste him anywhere. And Zechs wouldn’t stop talking. He was saying, “Of course you aren’t a Mongrel. Not a real Mongrel. I could never fall for a Mongrel. Of course I wanted to possess a boy from the same tier as myself, no Mongrel could withstand what it is I _need_ to _do_ to you.”

Waking up with a start, he burst into tears and curled up into a ball on his bed. He wanted to check the security systems, make sure nobody could have gotten in or out. But, he just lay there shaking and crying uncontrollably.

__________

Qalen was _born_ to fly.

He got down to the simulators on the flight deck, and took to it like a duck to water. He wasn’t ready to take the Basic Flight test, but everyone was impressed with his performance. Nobody would have faulted even a Blondie for not having a great first day in the simulator. Spaceships were complicated.

Doctor J was having him go through drills on how to land. 

And it was as good a time as any for Qalen to ask him, “If I can get the data for you. . . The raw backup data from Jupiter’s database, of memories she deleted from someone’s head. Can you put the memories back into their mind?”

The Doctor chuckled.

Qalen was silent.

When Doctor J realized Qalen was serious, he looked over at him. “Theoretically, yes,” he said. “The neuro-science behind the ZERO system and the mind-programming techniques at the Academy are the same technology, just tweaked for different uses. If you can get the data, I can re-write it into a mind. It’ll take time, though.”

Qalen landed his simulated ship without a hitch. And then it was his turn to look over at Doctor J. “We never had this conversation,” he said.

The elder scientist asked him, “Would you like help?”

“No. Not right now. I’ll let you know,” he said. He hopped out of the contraption, and he headed for the flight deck’s exit doors. He was in his flight suit, for the sake of getting used to feel of how unforgivingly tight they were as compared to the standard under-bodysuits modern Elite fashion favored. He regrettably had to cross near the lounge, where a lot of people were hanging out.

A dozen people stopped what they were doing and saluted. Qalen didn’t think he’d ever get used to that. “As you were. Hello Noin, Red, everyone,” he said with a smile that was only a little forced.

Red said, “Hey! Um, Sir! I have a name!”

Noin elbowed him hard in the ribs.

Qalen chuckled and went about his day. If he didn’t know better, he thought he caught Noin and Red admiring his rear as he walked away. He liked that he had their attention, if he was right. He was starting to love it on his station. He wanted to hold onto that feeling as he left for his chambers.

_________

Nobody saw much of Qalen during the next couple days. He wasn’t exactly hacking Jupiter, he just wanted copies of things she kept in her memory archive behind lock and key. But, he knew better than to access anything she always kept direct-access on, when it’d lead to her asking why he wanted it. Hacking Jupiter herself was a great way to end up a vegetable or worse. He was hacking his own station’s archives. In the event Jupiter needed them, she had massive data stores off-planet on any number of her outposts. Ya know, in case of a volcano erupting and taking out one of her main hubs, or something. Redundancies can come in handy. The Blondies’ access was restricted by Jupiter since the “incident” with Qalen’s Pet Registration, and she put safeguards in place against making alterations to anything without her approval. All Qalen wanted to do was get copies of things. He was sure she didn’t wipe anyone’s memory without keeping a copy of it all for herself. Because while he could understand her wanting people to forget certain things, he would never assume she didn’t want to know absolutely everything. So, he’d been looking at the code of the database and creating a program that’d blend in with Jupiter’s hardware-health sweepers that’d collect the bits of data he needed. And then, well, he’d have to think about what his next step was. He found himself smiling to himself, because Zechs wouldn’t have ever been able to pull this off. He liked surpassing Zechs.

When it was finished, he uploaded it to the archives during the scheduled downtime, and that was that. In a couple of days, he should have his own little archive of the missing-time Trowa and Wufei had experienced. Right on time for them to arrive on-station.

That was all thoroughly exhausting; it required checking and rechecking details over and over again. He wanted a massage and a bath and Pet to cuddle with and ice cream and trashy entertainment on his screen. He regretted being so emotionally closed-off to the idea of having any companionship with him when he moved out here. Back then, he wanted to get away from everyone as fast as possible. He wondered if the people he most wanted to avoid were still on planet. . .

He’d been putting it off long enough. He ran a search on Zechs. If he found him, he knew where he could send an assassin. If he found out he was dead, he could do a little dance.

The search came up with zero results.

He stroked his smooth chin and tried it again.

Zero results.

That didn’t mean Zechs had moved, or died, or changed his name; it meant Jupiter erased his records. 

Qalen nodded and thought, good riddance.

As he walked to his bathroom he couldn’t believe how light he felt. He lit all the candles, filled the tub with steaming, lavender-scented water.

And the next thing he knew, it was hours later.

He drained the tub and sleepily dried off. Then he fell into bed.

__________

He dreamed, but he knew he was dreaming. He was Heero, his Master’s dark-skinned Mongrel Pet. Master insisted his Pets spend the day at the Pet Spa. Duo was blessedly with him, wouldn’t let him out of his sight. Some other Pets and Furnitures made bitchy comments about him, questioning why a dirty Mongrel was among them.

He vaguely wondered why Master wouldn’t just have his skin lightened. He could.

Duo just kept smiling and pretending not to hear them. He kept touching Heero, stroking his abs, caressing his face, holding his hand. He kept smirking and making out with him. Duo could be so loving when he wanted to prove a point.

Most of the shit-talking stopped when Duo took Heero to the pool to fuck him in front of everyone. Duo was probably the most famous Pet of his generation, and he fucked Heero predatorily, meeting the gaze of everyone who was around.

The message was clear, ‘I’m amazing, you’re not, this is _my_ Heero you’re talking about. If you want me to rearrange your face, keep talking and staying right where I can see you. But first, I need to calm down my beloved Heero. Then, I will hurt you badly. Don’t be here when I’m finished fucking him if you value your life.’

The Spa was significantly emptier because of Duo serving looks, and Heero had never been so turned on, or in love, in his entire life.

__________

Qalen got an alert waking him from his sleep. Noin and Red were part of a squad jumping into hyperspace to the star. There was a sensor blip. They think they have pirate activity on their scopes.

He did not walk; he _ran_ to the Command Deck. He was dressing as he dashed. It was undignified and thank goodness nobody saw him hopping into a singlet on his way across the living area to the lift. By the time the doors opened to Command he’d pulled the toga-like outer garment over his head and gotten it situated.

Though he had some background in military strategy, he left the directing of the fighting to the station’s military commanders. Noin was squadron leader, and it was comforting, hearing her voice on the radio.

The station’s cameras watched and recorded everything as the fighter squadron swooped again and again, and again, in formation, crippling unsuspecting ships, tearing at defensive shields. Dumped cargo was fast-protected by launched nets that flew out from the fighters and ensnared the objects, surrounding them with plasma-shields and dragging them towards the station under their own power; leaving the fighters free to continue to engage the smuggler ships and stop them from fleeing.

The smugglers seemed to have endless munitions and it was nail-bitingly stressful to watch his pilots in danger every second. Qalen wished he was out there. He wished he could do more than record and coordinate. But, assimilating vast quantities of information and processing it was what he was built for. He watched the entire course of battle.

There was a sad moment, when the smugglers could tell they were beaten. They made it look like they were just dumping more of their precious ill-gotten gains as a distraction while they made an attempt to flee. Qalen had been paying very close attention to everything, and only he seemed to see the truth. He felt compelled to get on the communications array and speak directly into Noin’s headset, “I know those pods are reading as containing life-signs, Noin. But, let those Pets fall into the sun. I’ll bet you anything, when you get close to fire your nets at them, it’ll be a trap. Bombs, most likely. They’ve figured out our combat strategy by now. They’re trying to kill you, or the station. Don’t do it. It’s a trap. Disable their ship, and bring them in.”

Noin followed her orders, reluctantly. Sure enough, when the pods in question got hot enough, the station’s sensors picked up absolutely massive explosions.

For eighteen hours, Qalen did everything he could to support his team. Sometimes it was just encouraging words. Sometimes it was cautioning them not to take too big a risk (‘you’re worth so much more to your friends, alive’). He hadn’t slept, but he felt like he’d done some good for his people. The recovery operation taught him an awful lot about the gear used to transport Pets without anyone catching on. Pirates were taken into custody, and he told his Enforcers they could torture who they liked. But, he warned there would be consequences if more than two of them died from it. Qalen promised he would review the transcripts and videos later. A cargo-bay had to be cleared to provide a place to store all the evidence until trial-dates. Well, almost all the evidence.

There were four Mongrel Pets in the captured ships. He was told the odds of Mongrel Pets being found were infinitesimal. He kept his own counsel on that subject. He arranged for Counselors, social workers, and psychiatrists to meet with them. Qalen opened accounts for the ex-Pets, and dumped not-insignificant sums of money into them. He’d been gifted all of Quatre's and Treize’s money when Jupiter disappeared them, and he liked the irony of some of it enriching Mongrel Pets.

When he communed with her, Jupiter wasn’t sure all the fuss was balanced by the gains. But she wondered about why there were any Mongrel Pets on the ships, at all. She concluded it was worth further investigation.

Qalen explained the operation made her look very good, made it look like she really cared about the security and prosperity of the sector, that she was an altogether better system of governance than living under the chaos of pirates. He told her some victories were in the hearts and minds of her subjects, not on the balance-sheets. Jupiter chided Qalen for assuming she didn’t know about morale and he wisely shut the fuck up.

Jupiter chalked his rudeness up to being exhausted and demanded he get some rest, because he’d been up too long.

The odds of resting weren’t that good, because his guests were arriving.

__________

Wufei and Trowa were arriving at the station well-rested and in significantly better shape than Qalen. Qalen had been a bundle of raw nerves for a day and a half and the circles under his eyes were severe.

The guests were escorted directly to Qalen’s suite. When they first walked in, they were treated to the full-wall displays that showed a view out of the station’s exterior.

There was a _line_ of captured pirate craft tethered and awaiting inspection and cataloging. Fighter craft from the station were flying patrols to discourage anyone trying anything stupid.

“It’s been a Hell of a day. How was the flight? I’m so glad you two could make it. Please sit and make yourselves comfortable. My Furniture, Amhad, isn’t a boy who’s thrown parties like you’re used to, in Tanagura and Amoi. But, I’m sure the rooms he’s prepared for you will be to your satisfaction,” said Qalen.

Wufei assessed the situation on the wall-length screen and asked, “You had to defend the station from attack?”

“No, we went hunting pirates and smugglers,” Qalen said with a proud smile.

Wufei raised his brows. He wasn’t easily impressed, but that did.

Trowa bowed, gracefully and said, “Pleased to meet you. I’m Trowa Barton.”

“I _am_ pleased to meet you. Qalen Winner,” he said, offering a polite nod and a slight bow. He watched Trowa for a moment. The boy sat on the couch, slowly, and it seemed like it was mostly because he had been told to sit. And he looked fantastic, in casual slacks over a midnight-blue leotard that left his arms bare. Qalen tried very hard not to stare, so he slid his gaze over to Wufei.

Wufei’s attire was extremely professional and formal, and he sat like he was extremely professional and formal. The buttons up the front of the shirt were gold, and the fabric was a rich forest green that Trowa picked out for him.

Qalen was looking at them, so glad that this time the three of them together was a much happier occasion than the last time. Even though. . . they didn’t remember it. And even though he wasn’t completely honest when he invited them out.

Wufei and Trowa held hands. They looked like they were waiting for a bomb to drop.

Wufei started with, “I wasn’t expecting this, but, your message said you had something to discuss with both of us?”

Qalen sat on the loveseat opposite them, and he folded his hands in his lap. He fidgeted with the silver clasp on the shoulder of his toga. He said, “There’s a lot I want to say. I don’t really know where to start. But, I want you to know I’m grateful to both of you, because you saved me. . . I just don’t strictly know how you did it. I’m more interested in why you did it, honestly. But, I don’t know either answer. And, neither do you. And that’s because Jupiter erased the memories of everyone who could have known about. . . what you helped saved me from.”

Wufei and Trowa looked at each other. They didn’t know exactly what news they were in for when they arrived for this meeting, but they were right in assuming it must have been sensitive if Qalen didn’t want to discuss it over the communication networks.

There were so many things Qalen wanted to launch into, but he said, “Okay so first of all, when we are in private, you need not fear any reprisal or rebuke for the things you say. You are utterly free to speak your mind. Both of you. I know that’s probably a surprise, coming from a Blondie. But, don’t worry, there’s more where that came from. There’s even a legal notice I had drawn up. It’s sitting in your electronic mail, stating as such, protecting you even if I try to change my mind about it. And, I don’t know how to say all of what I brought you here to hear, some of it will be upsetting. And I don’t care how pathetic I sound. What you rescued me from was. . . okay, here goes: I was physically altered against my will and registered as a Pet, by my brother. They changed my hair, reduced my body to make my age appear less than it was. And then, they left me in the slums of Ceres. They expected me to die out there. Nearly did. I was scooped up by another Blondie, who decided to stop me from bleeding out on the street after I was mugged. His name was Zechs. And he put me through two months of Pet Training. Yes, Trowa, that. . . is how I know you. I lived with you. You were his Furniture and you were overall pretty decent to me. And Zechs hired you, Wufei, to aid him in training me. It wasn’t pleasant for me. I hated what you did to me. But. . . If I’m completely, utterly honest, you did help me. At the very least. . . you’re the one who pointed out to me that nobody was fighting to liberate me, that Zechs was all I had, and if I kept fighting him. . . he’d get tired of me, and then he’d get rid of me. And then, I’d have nobody. Or, he’d escalate my discomfort to the point it completely broke me. . . At least with him, if I cooperated with him, there was someone concerned if I was still breathing. Your heart was in the right place. I wasn’t. . . facing reality, until I encountered you. I’m sorry I didn’t say anything earlier. I just. . . I can’t trust this will all stay between just us if I said it over the communication systems.”

Wufei couldn’t sit there and be completely impassive. He was good at masking his emotions. But this story was incredible. Firstly, he only ever got acknowledged and thanked by Masters when their Pets’ behaviors were turned around; he never got acknowledged and thanked by the Pets. Secondly, his blood chilled, because he didn’t know what he must have had to do to make a Blondie submit to him during a Training. Blondies weren’t exactly wired for submission! He was wide-eyed and open-mouthed, stunned.

Squeezing his lover’s hand, Trowa started to get an awful feeling about where this story was going. But he said nothing, otherwise still as a statue.

The somberly sitting Blondie could see they were getting overloaded. So he said, “What was done to me, I think it changed things in me, changed things in my head. Blondies. . . we aren’t supposed to need friends, or support, or people who understand or care about us. I asked you two out here because even though. . . well, even though I had to go through Pet Training under you, you still treated me more decently than my own brother. And I. . . I was hoping that you’d at least be someone who listened to my story. I don’t have anyone to talk to, who can understand any of what I’ve been through. I can’t bring these things up with any Blondie. And certainly not with any of my subordinates here on the station. I didn’t ask you out here to manipulate you or gain anything except. . . to tell my story to people who could understand. I don’t think I can go on in silence, like I have been. So. That’s why I asked you out here.”

Wufei stared at the Blondie. He looked to Trowa, and he knew his love was shocked and stunned and still processing. He wouldn’t presume to speak for him, so he said, “I’ll listen. I think. . . Trowa, needs a minute? Can you and I go somewhere else?”

Qalen had been looking at the floor, tense as a board. It was a very un-Blondie-like pose. But he breathed, when Wu said he’d listen. He answered the black-haired man’s question with a nod, and then said, “Just right through that door is my bed chamber, or there’s the kitchen.”

“Let’s go sit on your bed,” Wufei said to him. Then he turned to Trowa and gently said, “I’ll be right back. We’ll be right through there.”

Trowa nodded.

Wufei walked with Qalen to the man’s bed chamber. He very deliberately chose to sit on the floor, cross-legged, looking up at the seated Qalen.

If Qalen had had a little more sleep, he’d trust himself to say things right and explain things in their proper order. But, he was uncertain of if it was all going to come out right, so he was hesitating. He sat on his bed, his hands fidgeting before him.

“Take your time,” Wufei said, softly.

A little encouragement from the trainer went a long way, with Qalen. So, he just started talking and hoped Wu could keep up with him. He explained, “Zechs enjoyed how willful I was, even when I was just a kid in the hospital that he’d decided to take home and add to the Registry. He didn’t believe my story for a moment. It was too unbelievable. At first, he was just teaching me obedience to him. Then instead of trying to teach me that Pets are kept to be paired with other Pets. . . he started taking me to his bed, for his own personal pleasure. He was an Elite who took great pleasure in keeping a Mongrel in Pet Rings and. . . raping me. Between that, and the party he threw, with me as his Pet, on display, and my traitorous brother in attendance. . . while I was thoroughly dosed with Muir and forced to appear like I liked it there. . . Those were the two worst things. Everything else was just. . . learning how to deal with the public humiliation of being a Pet, learning how to deal with being a man’s property and nobody was looking for me. . . And then, toward the end, I. . . I was breaking, starting to accept it, I. . . was learning to get off on submitting to him.” He almost didn’t get the words out. He was near tears, but no actual tears appeared in his eyes. So many times, while he explained how he was treated, he knew he was going to fall apart if he stopped for more than a short breath, so he kept fighting on to get to the next words he had to say. And then, he’d eventually said all the worst things. He breathed easier, after that, but he still had more to explain.

He pressed on, saying, “Somehow, you two figured out what I really was. That I really was Qalen, heir to the Winner line. And then, you two interfered in the affairs of the Elites, by giving me a dose of something that exposed I’d been physically altered. Once that happened, Zechs had no choice but to take my story seriously. He had me examined. It was a shock to Jupiter’s system. That’s how I’m here, on this beautiful station, and not serving a monster as his Pet. It was you two.

“Then Jupiter punished the perpetrators. She erased the memories of everyone who might have witnessed what was done to me, so that life could move on without humiliating one of her Elites. . . without showing that the system had cracks in its security and that Elites aren’t perfect, aloof creatures above having human emotions and weaknesses. . . I’ll never know how much her decision to wipe memories was devoted to protecting my honor, or protecting the system she has in place with Elites on top of it as perfect emissaries of her will.”

When the natural lul in his story came, Wufei asked, “I can see why you felt like you had nowhere to turn. What else happened?” His voice was gentle, sympathetic.

“That’s something. . . you should both hear,” Qalen said. He stood, and he walked toward Wufei to extend a hand to help him up.

Wufei accepted the extended hand with some hesitation. Blondies didn’t typically offer to casually touch people, they were so above just filth as he, a mere mortal. He concluded Qalen really was different from them. He followed Qalen back to the modest living room and rejoined Trowa on the couch.

For his part, Trowa was breathing more normally, and was more alert and like himself. He put down the glass of water Ahmad had brought him and used both hands to hold Wufei’s.

Once again, Qalen sat opposite them. He said, “You helped me. I don’t think you deserved to end up missing those two months of your memory. Nobody who helped me escape being a Pet should be punished for it. So. . . I went and found them, the back-up data of your missing memories. One of my scientists asserts he can give back those missing months to you. If you want them. I had to try and do. . . _something_ nice for you,” he finished. He leaned forward, shoulders slumped. He looked so small and alone. He looked like he’d just given every bit of energy he had, getting through those words.

Again, Wufei and Trowa looked at each other.

Wufei knew he ought to say something, but he felt very much left behind. He wasn’t used to being dumbstruck. He didn’t like it. According to the story, they’d defied Elites in an effort to restore Qalen’s rank and title from that of a Pet. And so, to thank them, Qalen professed to defy Jupiter _herself_. That was either a lie in a bid to impress them, or Qalen was among the most foolish or brave people he’d ever met. And Wufei was having trouble handling it all.

It was Trowa’s turn to be the only one who had it together. He said, “I’m sorry you’ve been through all that. And I’m glad it’s in the past. I wish it were entirely over, for you. And. . . I’m sorry that you’re hurt, and that you’ve felt so changed, and alone.” He rose from his seat, and he moved to sit next to Qalen. He was a gentle person. And he couldn’t just sit idle while someone confessed they were in terrible pain and not react.

Hearing Trowa using that familiar, comforting tone almost had Qalen gushing tears. But nothing was decided, and he wanted to resist turning into a blubbering mess. He was succeeding, right up until Trowa reached out and touched his hand. And then everything crumbled. Qalen started sobbing out the tears he’d been holding back for six months.

Trowa pulled Qalen to himself and he held him.

The Blondie clung to Trowa’s torso and sobbed into his chest, his body absolutely wracked with sobs.

Ahmad appeared. The young man didn’t strictly know what to do, but he put down the tray of chamomile tea he’d prepared for his Master and the guests. The handsome young Furniture waited for his Master’s sobs to subside.

Trowa’s heart was bleeding for the guy clinging to him. He didn’t know what else was going to happen, but he knew whatever it was, he was going to care about Qalen from that moment on. Trowa wasn’t going to let someone trust him like this and then pretend it never happened. He looked to Wufei, while he was petting Qalen’s hair. He wasn’t going to let Qalen go on alone. There was a certain amount of personal guilt and responsibility he felt, yes, but mostly it was the way Qalen had clung to him like a life preserver. He’d decided he wouldn’t simply abandon the Blondie to his fate.

Wu saw it all right there in Trowa’s eyes. Wufei was pragmatic about things. He knew Qalen’s story might not have happened. But he also knew nobody could fake sobs like that. So if the story wasn’t true, someone wanted to hurt Qalen badly enough to conjure up that awful chain of events, and then slip it into his mind, somehow. Qalen’s pain was real, even if nothing else about the story was. He offered Trowa a weak smile. He could see Trowa was attached, already. He could see how protectively he was holding the sobbing Blondie. He rolled his eyes. But then, he nodded at his lover, silently signaling he understood Qalen was welcome in Trowa’s life, signaling he understood Trowa was going to be there for the Blondie as much as Trowa could manage. Chang would get used to Qalen being around, for Trowa. He hated refusing Trowa things. He only put his foot down when Trowa had a truly terrible idea in his head. Helping Qalen get emotionally back to some semblance of on his feet didn’t seem like a dangerous move. In fact, it could be immensely beneficial, but that was his selfish, business-like side talking.

“Master,” Ahmad asked, gently. “I think perhaps your guests, and yourself, need a break. Perhaps this discussion should be tabled, for the night?”

Not trusting his voice after all that crying, Qalen nodded.

Ahmad put a cup of tea in Qalen’s hands, and escorted him off to bed.

Trowa and Wufei found themselves seated next to each other again. They held hands.

Trowa gripped tightly and said, “wow.”

After a long time, Wufei finally said, “He called me. It’s been what, two weeks? He called me, and he asked me why I was such a good Pet Trainer.”

Resting his head back on the couch cushions, Trowa asked, “No wonder. He was probably. . . trying to make sense of why his trainer helped free him. Why do you think we did that?”

“I think he was trying to make sense of a lot of things,” Wufei said, speaking softly. “I don’t know. I suppose I will when I get my memories back. If they’re genuine. . .” he mused.

Too much news had been dropped on him, too fast, and Trowa didn’t feel like he had his feet under him. He said, “Hey? Let’s go to bed.”

“Yeah, okay.”

__________

Ahmad made Trowa and Wufei breakfast. The three of them had a grand ol’ time chatting about all the latest big events. Their discussion ran from the daring interception of the smugglers, to the fashion happening in Amoi, to theater, to being a Furniture on a space station versus in Tanagura.

Exhausted from everything over the last couple days, Qalen slept late. When he emerged from his bed chamber, he stared at Wufei and Trowa sitting at his kitchen table like they were a dream made manifest. He’d honestly thought he’d dreamed their presence for a split second before he remembered yesterday. He looked down at himself and thanked the stars he remembered to put something on before he went out there.

“Morning,” said Wufei, smiling pleasantly.

Trowa could tell Wufei’s smile was the self-satisfied kind he wore when he’d one-upped somebody. He could tell Wufei was enjoying that he’d surprised and flustered a Blondie, so he kicked his leg.

There was a place set for him at the table, and Qalen happily sat at it. He said, “Good morning. This is a nice change of pace.” His hair wasn’t styled. He wasn’t yet bathed. His day hadn’t really started yet.

Ever efficient, Ahmad brought his Master a steaming mug of coffee. And then he receded to clean up the dishes and mixing bowls and pans he used to make them all pancakes and bacon.

Nobody at the table knew what to start talking about.

Qalen felt like he’d ruined the good time just by showing up. He’d felt that way before; he was the only Blondie on the station. So he said, “I have no doubt there’s thoughts or questions rattling around in your heads. Don’t worry about Ahmad, he’s forgotten more about my life than I’ve ever learned. You can speak around him. He’s trustworthy.”

The guests looked at each other. Wufei spoke up, saying, “Can I ask, where did these memory back-ups come from? How do we know they aren’t doctored, for example? I don’t mean to sound cynical. I don’t mean to sound accusatory. I. . . I just don’t know how comfortable I am letting strangers in my head,” he explained.

Without wanting to sound too prideful, Qalen said, “I found them on my own. Pulled them out of Jupiter’s archives, and nobody knows I did it.”

Wufei blinked rapidly. “That’s risky,” he said, impressed with Qalen yet again.

After shrugging, the Blondie said, “No riskier than sticking your nose in the affairs of an Elite and the Elite he’s abusing.”

Trowa let out a frustrated huff.

The other two at the table looked at him. Qalen was helping himself to some pancakes.

“I just. . . I know I couldn’t live with it, living as the Furniture to a rapist, watching, helpless as he descended to being so. . . such a lowly, selfish. . . creature, to a Pet. And once I found out what your true rank was, there was no way I could stand idle while he violated you over and over. . . I’m glad I’m fired. I’ve never been so glad a Master changed decor and decided I wasn’t pretty enough among his new possessions,” he said. His anger was the quiet, smoldering kind.

Qalen gently chewed his lower lip for a moment before he said, “You did what you could, where you could. You rescued me from nearly-certain molestation at the Pet Spa. You dressed me in clothes to try and get me some dignity back, after you found out. You tried to talk Mas- Zechs, out of things.” He corrected himself far too late. “You looked out for me at the gym. You didn’t have to try and take such good care of me, Trowa, and during a time when I didn’t have any friends, kindnesses like yours were absolutely huge. Thank you,” he said. He found himself smiling. He reached out to clasp Trowa’s forearm, and he said, “I’m glad we met again, so I could say that.”

Quietly, Trowa rested his hand atop Qalen’s. He looked at him, mystified, and he asked, “How do you stand it? Remembering it all?”

He said, “I’d rather be who I am, who I _really_ am, broken and flawed, because it’s _honest_. We Blondies live with all this power. . . but there’s something. . . about being powerless that reconnected me to feeling alive. . . a feeling I didn’t know I was missing until. . . a time after it was all resolved. I could. . . I’ve thought about it. I’ve almost made that call a few times, to have those months erased. If I got a memory-wipe I’d be giving up more than just the bad things that happened to me, I don’t think I’d have moved so hard against the smugglers if I didn’t remember what’d been done to me. I rescued people, because of what happened to me. I don’t want to lose that. Or, an even worse thought is. . . if the mental changes in me remain even _after_ the memories are gone. Then I’d be feeling all these things, have this desperate need to feel protected and secure and feel sick with myself when I think of being dominant like the typical Elite, and I wouldn’t even know _why_ , and that’d be so much worse.”

Wufei listened to it all, patiently. But he was getting tired of feeling at a disadvantage. Qalen remembered him, remembered things he didn’t. That last explanation out of Qalen felt to him like there was something important left out. He did empathize. But he also had a dominant nature that was tired of feeling like his strings were being pulled. He reacted by saying, “I respect that. But, tell us what you are holding back. What else would you lose if you memory-wiped the experience all away?”

Wide-eyed, Qalen looked to Wufei. He looked stunned. There was definitely something major he hadn’t revealed to them, yet. He put down his fork and knife and said, “When I tell you this, you need to both be aware it wasn’t the primary reason I contacted you.”

Summoning his patience and broadcasting an aura of calm but stern refusal to be denied was a trait the Pet Trainer had been cultivating for most of his life. He was waiting, but in a way that made everyone aware his patience was finite.

Trowa shrank in his chair, uncomfortable with how ready Wufei was to bully a Blondie, and a victim, in his own kitchen.

Qalen took a breath. Wufei’s demeanor in those moments sent shivers up his spine, both the pleasurable kind, and the kind that came with being afraid of someone. He told himself to be brave. He told himself Wufei will have heard worse, from people. He swallowed hard before he said, “I. . . hated being Pet Trained, at the time. But most nights, these days, I have a dream about it, either a memory or a new event my unconscious mind conjures up . . . and most of the time, even though I hated it at the time, I wake up sweaty, and find I’ve cum all over myself from having the dreams. I’m. . . some kind of broken Blondie, from what Zechs did to me. It’s not going away on its own. Sometimes I’m a normal Blondie, just wanting to have a guy in chains for my amusement, hard for it and content. Sometimes those same thoughts of doing that to someone, turns my stomach. Sometimes when I’m remembering what it was like to be in chains, I get hard from it. Sometimes when I’m remembering what it’s like to be in chains, it turns my stomach. Lately, when I think about these things and involve you, or Trowa. . . I’m almost always hard from it.”

Blinking, Wufei was unsure what to say. A Blondie getting off on dreams of submission, or dreams of nonconsenting punishment, was not something one heard about every day.

The Blondie wasn’t sure what else Wufei was waiting for. Wufei barely reacted, and Qalen find himself getting more and more anxious about what Chang’s reaction was going to be, by the second.

Wufei started smiling. The dawning realization put a lot of pieces of the puzzle of what Qalen was all about, together. He said, “You called me because I was still in your dreams, and you didn’t even understand why you were reacting the way you were to them.”

Qalen looked between Trowa and Wufei, chagrinned. He explained, “I was trying to figure out. . . well, yes, that. And if we could be friends, even if you had no reason to know me. . . maybe you could help figure out if some programming was purposely put in my subconscious mind by Mas-. Zechs. . . Hey Trowa, did he really fire you because you didn’t match the decor?” He desperately attempted to take the subject off himself.

Trowa replied very quietly, “I don’t know. I wish I could forget him. I wish I could forget everything about him. I don’t want to remember him, either fondly, or hatefully. He doesn’t deserve us remembering him. We deserved better than him. No matter how bratty the Pets I’ve taken care of were. . . I cared about all of them. It’s my job to care about my Master’s Pets but he was making you into something. . . that isn’t a Pet, making you a different kind of slave, that I’m sure he didn’t even really prepare me properly to take care of. . . so I couldn’t. . . properly take care of you, because he was. . . Qalen I. . . I know I cared about you. So, I know, watching what was happening, and I couldn’t stop it, must have torn me up. I have to say, I don’t want those memories back and I don’t even want to keep the ones I have of him, anymore,” he explained.

With a gentle smile, Qalen said, “That’s fine. I think it’s huge that you care about me at all even though it’s only been a few hours of being reacquainted.”

At that, Trowa tossed in, ”I couldn’t hear those stories and then just not care.”

Wufei leaned across the table and kissed Trowa. He loved him for that big, kind heart of his. Then he sat back down, and he said to Qalen, “As for me, I want my memories back. I want to know what I did to you that left such an impression that you’d come crawling back for more.” His smile was wicked.

Qalen squirmed in his seat. “It’s not. . . like that,” he said. He felt his face heat up. He was blushing. And his blush said it was exactly ‘like that.’

Wufei laughed, delighted.

Qalen let out a frustrated huff and hesitated to speak. Part of him would always worry about angering Wufei. But, he pulled some courage together and said, “It wasn’t funny. You. . . tortured me, and even though some part of me’s gotten twisted around to liking it. I. . . it’s not funny. That was the hardest time in my whole life.”

That changed the tone around the table to a more subdued one, again. And Wufei dared not push the Blondie's tolerance any further. Somberly, he said, “You’re right. I’m acting like. . . like an ass. I’m sorry. You’re different from my other clients, because you’re also becoming a friend. I need to not abuse your trust in me, or your lenience, for the sake of cheap laughs. I’m sorry. I was only meaning to tease, and I’m excited for what this may mean for us, in the future. I hate being mocked for my tastes, and things I can not help, as well. I should know better.”

Qalen breathed. Then, he gently said, “Apology accepted. But, you’re an intimidating Pet Trainer with as cold a gaze as any Blondie’s, who’d be dumb enough to mock you?”

With a quick look down at his own crotch, Wufei explained, “Blondies like to. . . get their amusement from bullying and humiliating us ‘inferior’ guys. Reminding us of what they make us give up, to live in their glittering city. More than once, when an Elite was hiring me to discipline a Pet, they’d request I. . . sometimes they want me to rape them, as part of their punishment. They all know I. . . can't personally do, certain things with my body. . . . Sometimes they just like to lord it over. . . their slaves, bring up things we can’t do just to hear us apologize and say we can’t. . . . On top of that, they make it difficult to refuse them. I've done things to Pets that weren't entirely about some kind of training for them. There have been times where I just. . . felt like the Elite used me.”

Qalen saw a new side of Wufei, in that instance. He felt like the infamous trainer was starting to trust him, and that left a warm feeling in his chest. He decreed, “That’s cruel of them. I’m sorry. I never want you to feel like you’re ill-equipped, when you’re around me. Either of you. You are beautiful, wonderful guys. Jupiter has no idea how lucky she is to have you working to better her society. I don’t want my friends to ever feel used, again. Not any of us.”

Wufei raised his glass of orange juice in a toast and said, “To new friends.”

Trowa raised his water glass and said, “To new friends.”

Coffee mug and glasses clinked together, and the sound heralded new hopes for the future, for all of them. It was a strange breakfast. But in the moment of that toast, they all knew in their hearts that things weren’t going to be the same, from then, on. They knew they were all going to be okay.

End.


End file.
